THE 


\JtfV 

Ov 

CALIFO 


BOOKS  BY  FRANK  H.  SPEARMAN 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


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NAN  OF   MUSIC   MOUNTAIN 


De  Spain  covered  a  hardly  perceptible  black  object  on  the  trail. 


NAN  OF 
MUSIC  MOUNTAIN 


BY 

FRANK  H.   SPEARMAN 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

N.    C.    WYETH 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW    YORK::::::::::::::::::::  1916 


COPYRIGHT,  igi6,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  April,  1916 


TO  MY  SON 
EUGENE   LONERGAN   SPEARMAN 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  FRONTIER  DAY >'•-'•    •  l 

II.  THE  THIEF  RIVER  STAGE  LINE    ...  18 

III.  THE  SPANISH  SINKS    .......  34 

IV.  FIRST  BLOOD  AT  CALABASAS    ....  52 
V.  ROUNDING  UP  SASSOON 61 

VI.  HEELS  FOR  IT 73 

VII.  MAINTAINING  A  REPUTATION   ....  87 

VIII.  THE  GAMBLING-ROOM 101 

IX.  A  CUP  OF  COFFEE in 

X.  THE  GLASS  BUTTON 124 

XL  AFTER  THE  STORM 137 

XII.  ON  Music  MOUNTAIN 153 

XIII.  PARLEY 166 

XIV.  NAN  DRIFTS 181 

XV.  CROSSING  A  DEEP  RIVER 192 

XVI.  A  VENTURE  IN  THE  DARK 208 

XVII.  STRATEGY 220 

vii 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  HER  BAD  PENNY 235 

XIX.  DANGER 248 

XX.  FACING  THE  Music     .     .    .    .    .     .  260 

XXI.  A  TRY  OUT 271 

XXII.  GALE  PERSISTS   .........  287 

XXIII.  DE  SPAIN  WORRIES 300 

XXIV.  AN  OMINOUS  MESSAGE 311 

XXV.  A  SURPRISING  SLIP 321 

XXVI.  FLIGHT 336 

XXVII.  EL  CAPITAN 347 

XXVIII.  LEFEVER  TO  THE  RESCUE    ....  360 

XXIX.  PUPPETS  OF  FATE 369 

XXX.  HOPE  FORLORN 384 

XXXI.  DE  SPAIN  RIDES  ALONE      ....  397 

XXXII.  THE  TRUTH 406 

XXXIII.  GAMBLING  WITH  DEATH 417 

XXXIV.  AT  SLEEPY  CAT 425 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


De  Spain  covered  a  hardly  perceptible  black  object  on 

the  trail Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


Hugging  his  shield,  de  Spain  threw  his  second  shot  over 

Sandusky's  left  shoulder 134 

"Stand    away    from    that    girl!"    repeated    de    Spain 

harshly,  backing  the  words  with  a  step  forward    .     202 

"I've  promised  you  I  would.     I  will  promise  every 

time  you  ask  me" 414 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 


CHAPTER  I 

FRONTIER   DAY 

K FEVER,  if  there  was  a  table  in  the  room, 
could  never  be  got  to  sit  on  a  chair;  and 
being  rotund  he  sat  preferably  sidewise  on  the 
edge  of  the  table.  One  of  his  small  feet — his  feet 
were  encased  in  tight,  high-heeled,  ill-fitting 
horsemen's  boots — usually  rested  on  the  floor, 
the  other  swung  at  the  end  of  his  stubby  leg 
slowly  in  the  air.  This  idiosyncrasy  his  com 
panion,  de  Spain,  had  learned  to  tolerate. 

But  Lefever's  subdued  whistle,  which  seemed 
meditative,  always  irritated  de  Spain  more  or 
less,  despite  his  endeavor  not  to  be  irritated.  It 
was  like  the  low  singing  of  a  tea-kettle,  which, 
however  unobtrusive,  indicates  steam  within. 
In  fact,  John  Lefever,  who  was  built  not  unlike 
a  kettle,  and  whose  high,  shiny  forehead  was 
topped  by  a  pompadour  shock  of  very  yellow 
hair,  never  whistled  except  when  there  was  some 
pressure  on  his  sensibilities. 

i 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

The  warm  sun  streaming  through  the  windows 
of  the  private  office  of  the  division  superintendent 
at  Sleepy  Cat,  a  railroad  town  lying  almost 
within  gunshot  of  the  great  continental  divide, 
would  easily  have  accounted  for  the  cordial  per 
spiration  that  illumined  Lefever's  forehead.  Not 
that  a  perspiration  is  easily  achieved  in  the  high 
country;  it  isn't.  None,  indeed,  but  a  physical 
giant,  which  Lefever  was,  could  maintain  so  con 
stant  and  visible  a  nervous  moisture  in  the  face 
of  the  extraordinary  atmospheric  evaporation  of 
the  mountain  plateaus.  And  to  de  Spain,  on  this 
occasion,  even  the  glistening  beads  on  his  com 
panion's  forehead  were  annoying,  for  he  knew 
that  he  himself  was  properly  responsible  for  their 
presence. 

De  Spain,  tilted  back  in  the  superintendent's 
chair,  sat  near  Lefever — Jeffries  had  the  moun 
tain  division  then — his  elbows  resting  on  the  arms 
of  the  revolving-chair,  and  with  his  hands  he 
gripped  rather  defiantly  the  spindles  supporting 
them;  his  feet  were  crossed  on  the  walnut  rim 
of  the  shabby,  cloth-topped  table.  In  this  atti 
tude  his  chin  lay  on  his  soft,  open  collar  and  tie, 
his  sunburnt  lips  were  shut  tight,  and  above  and 
between  his  nervous  brown  eyes  were  two  little, 
vertical  furrows  of  perplexity  and  regret.  He  was 
looking  at  the  dull-finish  barrel  of  a  new  rifle, 

2 


Frontier  Day 

that  lay  across  Lefever's  lap.  At  intervals  Le- 
fever  took  the  rifle  up  and,  whistling  softly,  ex 
amined  with  care  a  fracture  of  the  lever,  the 
broken  thumb-piece  of  which  lay  on  the  table  be 
tween  the  two  men. 

From  the  Main  Street  side  of  the  large  room 
came  the  hooting  and  clattering  of  a  Frontier  Day 
celebration,  and  these  noises  seemed  not  to  allay 
the  discomfort  apparent  on  the  faces  of  the  two 
men. 

"It  certainly  is  warm,"  observed  Lefever,  apro 
pos  of  nothing  at  all. 

"Why  don't  you  get  out  of  the  sun  ?"  suggested 
de  Spain  shortly. 

Lefever  made  a  face.  "I  am  trying  to  keep 
away  from  that  noise." 

"Hang  it,  John,"  blurted  out  de  Spain  peev 
ishly,  "what  possessed  you  to  send  for  me  to  do 
the  shooting,  anyway?" 

His  companion  answered  gently — Lefever's  pa 
tience  was  noted  even  among  contained  men — 
"Henry,"  he  remonstrated,  "I  sent  for  you  be 
cause  I  thought  you  could  shoot." 

De  Spain's  expression  did  not  change  under  the 
reproach.  His  bronzed  face  was  naturally  amia 
ble,  and  his  mental  attitude  toward  ill  luck,  usu 
ally  one  of  indifference,  was  rarely  more  than  one 
of  perplexity.  His  features  were  so  regular  as  to 

3 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

contribute  to  this  undisturbed  expression,  and  his 
face  would  not  ordinarily  attract  attention  but 
for  his  extremely  bright  and  alive  eyes — the  fre 
quent  mark  of  an  out-of-door  mountain  life — 
and  especially  for  a  red  birthmark,  low  on  his  left 
cheek,  disappearing  under  the  turn  of  the  jaw. 
It  was  merely  a  strawberry,  so-called,  but  an 
ineradicable  stamp,  and  perhaps  to  a  less  preoc 
cupied  man  a  misfortune.  Henry  de  Spain,  how 
ever,  even  at  twenty-eight,  was  too  absorbed  in 
many  things  to  give  thought  to  this  often,  and 
after  knowing  him,  one  forgot  about  the  birth 
mark  in  the  man  that  carried  it.  Lefever's  re 
proach  was  naturally  provocative.  "I  hope  now," 
retorted  de  Spain,  but  without  any  show  of  re 
sentment,  "you  understand  I  can't." 

"No,"  persisted  Lefever  good-naturedly,  "I 
only  realize,  Henry,  that  this  wasn't  your  day  for 
the  job." 

The  door  of  the  outer  office  opened  and  Jeffries, 
the  superintendent,  walked  into  the  room;  he 
had  just  come  from  Medicine  Bend  in  his  car. 
The  two  men  rose  to  greet  him.  He  asked  about 
the  noise  in  the  street. 

"That  noise,  William,  comes  from  all  Cala- 
basas  and  all  Morgan's  Gap,"  explained  Lefever, 
still  fondling  the  rifle.  "The  Morgans  are  cele 
brating  our  defeat.  They  put  it  all  over  us. 

4 


Frontier  Day 

We  were  challenged  yesterday,"  he  continued  in 
response  to  the  abrupt  questions  of  Jeffries.  "The 
Morgans  offered  to  shoot  us  offhand,  two  hun 
dred  yards,  bull's-eye  count.  The  boys  here — 
Bob  Scott  and  some  of  the  stage-guards — put  it 
up  to  me.  I  thought  we  could  trim  them  by 
running  in  a  real  gunman.  I  wired  to  Medicine 
Bend  for  Henry.  Henry  comes  up  last  night 
with  a  brand-new  rifle,  presented,  I  imagine,  by 
the  Medicine  Bend  Black  Hand  Local,  No.  13. 
This  is  the  gun,"  explained  Lefever  feebly,  hold 
ing  forth  the  exhibit.  "The  lever,"  he  added  with 
a  patient  expletive,  "broke." 

"Give  me  the  gun,  John,"  interposed  de  Spain 
resignedly.     "I'll  lay  it  on  the  track  to-night  for 


a  train  to  run  over." 


"It  was  a  time  limit,  you  understand,  William," 
persisted  Lefever,  continuing  to  stick  pins  calmly 
into  de  Spain.  "Henry  got  to  shooting  too  fast." 

"That  wasn't  what  beat  me,"  exclaimed  de 
Spain  curtly.  And  taking  up  the  offending  rifle 
he  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"Nor  was  it  the  most  humiliating  feature  of 
his  defeat,"  murmured  Lefever,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  his  discomfited  champion.  "What  do  you 
think,  William?"  he  grumbled  on.  "The  Mor 
gans  ran  in  a  girl  to  shoot  against  us — true  as 
there's  a  God  in  heaven.  They  put  up  Nan 

5 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Morgan,  old  Duke  Morgan's  little  niece.  And 
what  do  you  think  ?  She  shot  the  fingers  clean 
off  our  well-known  Black  Hand  scout.  I  never 
before  in  my  life  saw  Henry  so  fussed.  The  little 
Music  Mountain  skirt  simply  put  it  all  over  him. 
She  had  five  bull's-eyes  to  Henry's  three  when  the 
lever  snapped.  He  forfeited." 

"Some  shooting,"  commented  Jeffries,  rapidly 
signing  letters. 

"We  expected  some  when  Henry  unslung  his 
gun,"  Lefever  went  on  without  respecting  JeflPries's 
preoccupation.  "As  it  is,  those  fellows  have 
cleaned  up  every  dollar  loose  in  Sleepy  Cat,  and 
then  some.  Money  ?  They  could  start  a  bank 
this  minute." 

Sounds  of  revelry  continued  to  pour  in  through 
the  street  window.  The  Morgans  were  celebrat 
ing  uncommonly.  "Rubbing  it  in,  eh,  John?" 
suggested  Jeffries. 

"Think  of  it,"  gasped  Lefever,  "to  be  beaten 
by  an  eighteen-year-old  girl." 

"Now  that,"  declared  Jeffries,  waking  up  as  if 
for  the  first  time  interested,  "is  exactly  where  you 
made  your  mistake,  John.  Henry  is  young  and 
excitable— 

"Excitable!"  echoed  Lefever,  taken  aback. 

"Yes,  excitable — when  a  girl  is  in  the  ring — 
why  not  ?  Especially  a  trim,  all-alive,  up-and- 

6 


Frontier  Day 

coming,  blue-eyed  hussy  like  that  girl  of  Duke 
Morgan's.  She  would  upset  any  young  fellow, 
John." 

"A  girl  from  Morgan's  Gap  ?" 

"Morgan's  Gap,  nothing!"  responded  Jeffries 
scornfully.  "What's  that  got  to  do  with  it? 
Does  that  change  the  fire  in  the  girl's  eye,  the 
curve  of  her  neck,  the  slope  of  her  shoulder,  John, 
or  the  color  of  her  cheek?"  Lefever  only  stared. 
"De  Spain  got  to  thinking  about  the  girl,"  per 
sisted  Jeffries,  "her  eyes  and  neck  and  pink  cheeks 
rattled  him.  Against  a  girl  you  should  have  put 
up  an  old,  one-eyed  scout  like  yourself,  or  me, 
or  Bob  Scott. 

"There's  another  thing  you  forget,  John,"  con 
tinued  Jeffries,  signing  even  more  rapidly.  "A 
gunman  shoots  his  best  when  there's  somebody 
shooting  at  him — otherwise  he  wouldn't  be  a  gun 
man — he  would  be  just  an  ordinary,  every-day 
marksman,  with  a  Schuetzenverein  medal  and  a 
rooster  feather  in  his  hat.  That's  why  you  shoot 
well,  John — because  you're  a  gunman,  and  not  a 
marksman." 

"That  boy  can  shoot  all  around  me,  Jeff." 

"For  instance,"  continued  Jeffries,  tossing  off 
signatures  now  with  a  rubber  stamp,  and  devel 
oping  his  incontestable  theory  at  the  same  time, 
"if  you  had  put  Gale  Morgan  up  against  Henry 

7 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

at,  say  five  hundred  yards,  and  told  them  to 
shoot  at  each  other,  instead  of  against  each  other, 
you'd  have  got  bull's-eyes  to  burn  from  de  Spain. 
And  the  Calabasas  crowd  wouldn't  have  your 
money.  John,  if  you  want  to  win  money,  you 
must  study  the  psychological." 

There  was  abundance  of  raillery  in  Lefever's 
retort:  "That's  why  you  are  rich,  JefF?" 

"No,  I  am  poor  because  I  failed  to  study  it. 
That  is  why  I  am  at  Sleepy  Cat  holding  down  a 
division.  But  now  that  you've  brought  Henry 
up  here,  we'll  keep  him." 

"What  do  you  mean,  keep  him?"  demanded 
Lefever,  starting  in  protest. 

"What  do  I  mean?"  thundered  Jeffries,  who 
frequently  thundered  even  when  it  didn't  rain  in 
the  office.  "I  mean  I  need  him.  I  mean  the 
time  to  shoot  a  bear  is  when  you  see  him.  John, 
what  kind  of  a  fellow  is  de  Spain?"  demanded 
the  superintendent,  as  if  he  had  never  heard  of 
him. 

"Henry  de  Spain?"  asked  Lefever,  sparring 
innocently  for  time. 

"No,  Commodore  George  Washington,  General 
Jackson,  Isaac  Watts  de  Spain,"  retorted  Jeffries 
peevishly.  "Don't  you  know  the  man  we're  talk 
ing  about  ?" 

"Known  him  for  ten  years." 


Frontier  Day 

"Then  why  say  ' Henry*  de  Spain,  as  if  there 
were  a  dozen  of  him  ?  He's  the  only  de  Spain  in 
these  parts,  isn't  he  ?  What  kind  of  a  fellow  is 
he?" 

Lefever  was  ready;  and  as  he  sat  in  a  chair 
sidewise  at  the  table,  one  arm  flung  across  the 
green  baize,  he  looked  every  inch  his  devil-may- 
care  part.  Regarding  Jeffries  keenly,  he  exclaimed 
with  emphasis:  "Why,  if  you  want  him  short 
and  sharp,  he's  a  man  with  a  soft  eye  and  a  snap- 
turtle  jaw,  a  man  of  close  squeaks  and  short-arm 
shots,  always  getting  into  trouble,  always  getting 
out;  a  man  that  can  wheedle  more  out  of  a  horse 
than  anybody  but  an  Indian;  coax  more  shots 
out  of  a  gun  than  anybody  else  can  put  into  it 
— if  you  want  him  flat,  that's  Henry,  as  I  size 
him." 

Jeffries  resumed  his  mildest  tone:  "Tell  him 
to  come  in  a  minute,  John." 

De  Spain  himself  expressed  contemptuous  im 
patience  when  Lefever  told  him  the  superintendent 
wanted  him  to  go  to  work  at  Sleepy  Cat.  He 
declared  he  had  always  hated  the  town;  and 
Lefever  readily  understood  why  he  should  espe 
cially  detest  it  just  now.  Every  horseman's  yell 
that  rang  on  the  sunny  afternoon  air  through 
the  open  windows — and  from  up  the  street  and 
down  there  were  still  a  good  many — was  one  of 

9 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

derision  at  de  Spain's  galling  defeat.  When  he 
at  length  consented  to  talk  with  Jeffries  about 
coming  to  Sleepy  Cat,  the  interview  was  of  a  posi 
tive  sort  on  the  one  side  and  an  obstinate  sort 
on  the  other.  De  Spain  raised  one  objection  after 
another  to  leaving  Medicine  Bend,  and  Jeffries 
finally  summoned  a  show  of  impatience. 

"You  are  looking  for  promotion,  aren't  you?" 
he  demanded  threateningly. 

"Yes,  but  not  for  motion  without  the  fpro/>: 
objected  de  Spain.  "I  want  to  stick  to  the  rail 
road  business.  You  want  to  get  me  into  the  stage 
business." 

"Temporarily,  yes.  But  I've  told  you  when 
you  come  back  to  the  division  proper,  you  come 
as  my  assistant,  if  you  make  good  running  the 
Thief  River  stages.  Think  of  the  salary." 

"I  have  no  immediate  heirs." 

"This  is  not  a  matter  for  joking,  de  Spain." 

"I  know  that,  too.  How  many  men  have 
been  shot  on  the  stages  in  the  last  six  months?" 

"Why,  now  and  again  the  stages  are  held  up, 
yes,"  admitted  Jeffries  brusquely;  "that  is  to  be 
expected  where  the  specie  shipments  are  large. 
The  Thief  River  mines  are  rotten  with  gold  just 
now.  But  you  don't  have  to  drive  a  stage.  We 
supply  you  with  good  men  for  that,  and  good 
guards — men  willing  to  take  any  kind  of  a  chance 

10 


Frontier  Day 

if  the  pay  is  right.  And  the  pay  is  right,  and 
yours  as  general  manager  will  be  right." 

"I  have  never  as  yet  generally  managed  any 
stage  line,"  remarked  de  Spain,  poking  ridicule  at 
the  title,  "no  matter  how  modest  an  outfit." 

"You  will  never  learn  younger.  There  is  a 
fascination,"  declared  Jeffries,  ignoring  the  fling, 
and  tilting  his  chair  eloquently  back  to  give  ease 
and  conviction  to  his  words,  "about  running  a 
good  stage  line  that  no  railroad  business  can 
ever  touch.  There  is,  of  course,  nothing  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  for  that  matter  in  the  United 
States — nothing,  I  guess,  in  the  world — that  ap 
proaches  the  Thief  River  line  in  its  opportuni 
ties.  Every  wagon  we  own,  from  the  lightest  to 
the  heaviest,  is  built  to  order  on  our  particular 
specifications  by  the  Studebaker  people."  Here 
Jeffries  pointed  his  finger  sharply  at  de  Spain  as 
if  to  convict  him  of  some  dereliction.  "You've 
seen  them !  You  know  what  they  are." 

De  Spain,  bullied,  haltingly  nodded  acquies 
cence. 

"Second-growth  hickory  in  the  gears,"  con 
tinued  Jeffries  encouragingly,  "ash  tongues  and 
boxes- 

"Some  of  those  old  buses  look  like  ash-boxes," 
interposed  de  Spain  irreverently. 

But  Jeffries  was  not  to  be  stopped:  "Timkin 
ii 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

springs,  ball-bearing  axles — why,  man,  there  is 
no  vehicle  in  the  world  built  like  a  Thief  River 
stage." 

"You  are  some  wagon-maker,  Jeff,"  said  de 
Spain,  regarding  him  ironically. 

Jeffries  ignored  every  sarcasm.  "This  road,  as 
you  know,  owns  the  line.  And  the  net  from  the 
specie  shipments  equals  the  net  on  an  ordinary 
railroad  division.  But  we  must  have  a  man  to 
run  that  line  that  can  curb  the  disorders  along 
the  route.  Calabasas  Valley,  de  Spain,  is  a  bad 
place." 

"Is  it  ?"  de  Spain  asked  as  naively  as  if  he  had 
never  heard  of  Calabasas,  though  Jeffries  was 
nervily  stating  a  fact  bald  and  notorious  to  both. 

"There  are  a  lot  of  bad  men  there,"  Jeffries 
went  on,  "who  are  bad  simply  because  they've 
never  had  a  man  to  show  them." 

"The  last  'general'  manager  was  killed  there, 
wasn't  he?" 

"Not  in  the  valley,  no.  He  was  shot  at  Cala 
basas  Inn." 

"Would  that  make  very  much  difference  in 
the  way  he  felt  about  it  ?" 

Jeffries,  with  an  effort,  laughed.  "That's  all 
right,  Henry !  They  won't  get  you."  Again  he 
extended  his  finger  dogmatically:  "If  I  thought 
they  would,  I  wouldn't  send  you  down  there." 

12 


Frontier  Day 

"Thank  you." 

"You  are  young,  ambitious:  four  thousand  a 
year  isn't  hanging  from  every  telegraph-pole;  it 
is  almost  twice  what  they  are  paying  me." 

"You're  not  getting  shot  at." 

"No  man,  Henry,  knows  the  hour  of  his  death. 
No  man  in  the  high  country  knows  when  he  is  to 
be  made  a  target — that  you  well  understand.  Men 
are  shot  down  in  this  country  that  have  no  more 
idea  of  getting  killed  than  I  have — or  you  have." 

"Don't  include  me.  I  have  a  pretty  good  idea 
of  getting  killed  right  away — the  minute  I  take 
this  job." 

"We  have  temporized  with  this  Calabasas  out 
fit  long  enough,"  declared  Jeffries,  dropping  his 
mask  at  last.  "Deaf  Sandusky,  Logan,  and  that 
squint-eyed  thief,  Dave  Sassoon — all  hold-up  men, 
every  one  of  them !  Henry,  I'm  putting  you  in 
on  that  job  because  you've  got  nerve,  because  you 
can  shoot,  because  I  don't  think  they  can  get 
you — and  paying  you  a  whaling  big  salary  to 
straighten  things  out  along  the  Spanish  Sinks. 
Do  you  know,  Henry — '"  Jeffries  leaned  forward 
and  lowered  his  tone.  Master  of  the  art  of  per 
suading  and  convincing,  of  hammering  and  pound 
ing,  of  swaying  the  doubting  and  deciding  the 
undecided,  the  strong-eyed  mountain-man  looked 
his  best  as  he  held  the  younger  man  under  his 

13 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

spell.  "Do  you  know,"  he  repeated,  "I  suspect 
that  Morgan  Gap  bunch  are  really  behind  and 
beneath  a  lot  of  this  deviltry  around  Calabasas  ? 
You  take  Gale  Morgan:  why,  he  trains  with  Dave 
Sassoon;  take  his  uncle,  Duke:  Sassoon  never  is 
in  trouble  but  what  Duke  will  help  him  out." 
Jeffries  exploded  with  a  slight  but  forcible  ex 
pletive.  "Was  there  ever  a  thief  or  a  robber 
driven  into  Morgan's  Gap  that  didn't  find  sym 
pathy  and  shelter  with  some  of  the  Morgans  ? 
I  believe  they  are  in  every  game  pulled  on  the 
Thief  River  stages." 

"As  bad  as  that?" 

Jeffries  turned  to  his  desk.  "Ask  John  Le- 
fever." 

De  Spain  had  a  long  talk  with  John.  But 
John  was  a  poor  adviser.  He  advised  no  one  on 
any  subject.  He  whistled,  he  hummed  a  tune, 
if  his  hat  was  on  he  took  it  off,  and  if  it  happened 
to  be  off,  which  was  unusual,  he  put  it  on.  He 
extended  his  arm,  at  times,  suddenly,  as  if  on  the 
brink  of  a  positive  assertion.  But  he  decided 
nothing,  and  asserted  nothing.  If  he  talked,  he 
talked  well  and  energetically;  but  the  end  of  a 
talk  usually  found  him  and  de  Spain  about  where 
they  began.  So  it  was  on  this  trying  day — for 
Lefever  was  not  able  wholly  to  hide  the  upset 
ting  of  his  confidence  of  victory,  and  his  humilia- 


Frontier  Day 

tion  at  the  now  more  distant  yells  from  the  Cala- 
basas  and  Morgan  Gap  victors. 

But  concerning  the  Morgans  and  their  friends, 
Lefever,  to  whom  Jeffries  had  rudely  referred  the 
subject  at  the  close  of  his  talk  with  de  Spain, 
did  abandon  his  habitual  reticence.  "Rustlers, 
thieves,  robbers,  coiners,  outlaws'/'  he  exclaimed 
energetically. 

"Is  this  because  they  got  your  money  to-day, 
John?"  asked  de  Spain. 

"Never  mind  my  money.  I've  got  a  new  job 
with  nothing  to  do,  and  plenty  of  cash." 

De  Spain  asked  what  the  job  was.  "On  the 
stages,"  announced  Lefever.  "I  am  now  general 
superintendent  of  the  Thief  River  Line." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"It  means  that  I  act  for  the  reorganization 
committee  in  buying  alfalfa  for  the  horses  and 
smokeless  pipes  for  the  guards.  I  am  to  be 
your  assistant." 

"I'm  not  going  to  take  that  job,  John." 

"Yes,  you  are." 

"Not  if  I  know  it.  I  am  going  back  to  Medi 
cine  Bend  to-night."  Lefever  took  off  his  hat 
and  twirled  it  skilfully  on  one  hand,  humming 
softly  the  while.  "John,"  asked  de  Spain  after 
a  pause,  "who  is  that  girl  that  shot  against  me 
this  afternoon  ?" 

15 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"That,"  answered  Lefever,  thinking,  shocked, 
of  Jeffries's  words,  "was  Nan  Morgan." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Just  one  of  the  Morgans;  lives  in  the  Gap 
with  old  Duke  Morgan,  her  uncle;  lived  there  as 
long  as  I  can  remember.  Some  shot,  Henry." 

"How  can  she  live  in  the  Gap,"  mused  de  Spain, 
"with  an  outfit  like  that  ?" 

"Got  nowhere  else  to  live,  I  guess.  I  believe 
you'd  better  change  your  mind,  Henry,  and  stay 
with  us." 

"No,"  returned  de  Spain  meditatively,  "I'm 
not  going  to  stay.  I've  had  glory  enough  out  of 
this  town  for  a  while."  He  picked  up  his  hat  and 
put  it  on.  Lefever  thought  it  well  to  make  no 
response.  He  was  charged  with  the  maintenance 
and  operation  of  the  stage-line  arsenal  at  Sleepy 
Cat,  and  spent  many  of  his  idle  moments  toying 
with  the  firearms.  He  busied  himself  now  with 
the  mechanism  of  a  huge  revolver — one  that  the 
stage-driver,  Frank  Elpaso,  had  wrecked  on  the 
head  of  a  troublesome  negro  coming  in  from  the 
mines.  De  Spain  in  turn  took  off  his  hat,  poked 
the  crown  discontentedly,  and,  rising  with  a  loss 
of  amiability  in  his  features  and  manner,  walked 
out  of  the  room. 

The  late  sun  was  streaming  down  the  full  length 
of  Main  Street.  The  street  was  still  filled  with 

16 


Frontier  Day 

loiterers  who  had  spent  the  day  at  the  fair,  and 
lingered  now  in  town  in  the  vague  hope  of  seeing 
a  brawl  or  a  fight  before  sundown — cattlemen  and 
cowboys  from  the  northern  ranges,  sheepmen  from 
the  Spider  River  country,  small  ranchers  and 
irrigators  from  the  Bear  basin,  who  picked  their 
steps  carefully,  and  spoke  with  prudence  in  the 
presence  of  roisterers  from  the  Spanish  Sinks, 
and  gunmen  and  gamblers  from  Calabasas  and 
Morgan's  Gap.  The  Morgans  themselves  and 
their  following  were  out  to  the  last  retainer. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    THIEF    RIVER    STAGE    LINE 

CLEEPY  CAT  has  little  to  distinguish  it  in  its 
casual  appearance  from  the  ordinary  moun 
tain  railroad  town  of  the  western  Rockies.  The 
long,  handsome  railroad  station,  the  eating-house, 
and  the  various  division-headquarters  buildings 
characteristic  of  such  towns  are  in  Sleepy  Cat 
built  of  local  granite.  The  yard  facilities,  shops, 
and  roundhouses  are  the  last  word  in  modern  rail 
road  construction,  and  the  division  has  not  infre 
quently  held  the  medal  for  safety  records. 

But  more  than  these  things  go  toward  making 
up  the  real  Sleepy  Cat.  It  is  a  community  with 
earlier-than-railroad  traditions.  Sleepy  Cat  has 
been  more  or  less  of  a  settlement  almost  since  the 
day  of  Jim  Bridger,  and  its  isolated  position  in 
the  midst  of  a  country  of  vast  deserts,  far  moun 
tain  ranges,  and  widely  separated  watercourses 
has  made  it  from  the  earliest  Western  days  a 
rendezvous  for  hunters,  trappers,  emigrants,  pros 
pectors,  and  adventurers — and  these  have  all,  in 
some  measure,  left  their  impress  on  the  town. 

Sleepy  Cat  lies  prettily  on  a  high  plateau  north 
18 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

and  east  of  the  railroad,  which  makes  a  detour 
here  to  the  north  to  round  the  Superstition  Range; 
it  is  a  county-seat,  and  this,  where  counties  are 
as  large  as  ordinary  Eastern  States,  gives  it  some 
political  distinction. 

The  principal  street  lies  just  north  of  the  rail 
road,  and  parallels  it.  A  modern  and  substantial 
hotel  has  for  some  years  filled  the  corner  above 
the  station.  The  hotel  was  built  by  Harry  Ten- 
ison  soon  after  the  opening  of  the  Thief  River 
gold-fields.  Along  Main  Street  to  the  west  are 
strung  the  usual  mountain-town  stores  and  saloons, 
but  to  the  north  a  pretty  residence  district  has 
been  built  up  about  the  court-house  square. 
And  a  good  water-supply,  pumped  from  Rat 
River,  a  brawling  mountain  stream  that  flows 
just  south  of  the  town,  has  encouraged  the  care 
of  lawns  and  trees. 

Before  de  Spain  had  walked  far  he  heard  music 
from  the  open-air  dancing-pavilion  in  Grant 
Street.  Stirred  by  an  idle  curiosity,  he  turned  the 
corner  and  stopped  to  watch  the  crowded  couples 
whirling  up  and  down  the  raised  platform  under 
paper  lanterns  and  red  streamers  to  the  music 
of  an  automatic  piano.  He  took  his  place  in  a 
fringe  of  onlookers  that  filled  the  sidewalk.  But 
he  was  thinking  as  he  stood,  not  of  the  boisterous 
dancing  or  the  clumsy  dancers,  but  of  the  broken 

19 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

lever  and  the  defeat  at  the  fair-grounds.  It  still 
rankled  in  his  mind.  While  he  stood  thinking 
the  music  ceased. 

A  man,  who  appeared  to  be  in  authority, 
walked  to  the  centre  of  the  dancing-floor  and 
made  an  announcement  that  de  Spain  failed  to 
catch.  The  manager  apparently  repeated  it  to 
those  of  his  patrons  that  crowded  around  him, 
and  more  than  once  to  individual  inquirers  who 
had  not  caught  the  purport  of  what  had  been 
said.  These  late  comers  he  pushed  back,  and  when 
the  floor  had  been  well  cleared  he  nodded  to  the 
boy  operating  the  piano,  and  looked  toward  a 
young  couple  standing  in  an  attitude  of  waiting 
at  the  head  of  the  hall. 

All  eyes  being  turned  their  way,  de  Spam's  at 
tention  as  well  was  drawn  toward  them.  The 
man  was  powerful  in  stature,  and  rather  too  heavy, 
but  straight  as  an  Indian.  His  small,  reddish 
face  was  tanned  by  the  sun  and  wind,  and  his 
manner  as  he  stood  with  arms  akimbo,  his  hands 
resting  on  his  belt,  facing  his  partner  and  talking 
to  her,  had  the  confidence  of  a  man  at  ease  with 
women.  From  the  handsome  hat  which,  as  he 
turned  to  his  partner  for  the  dance,  he  sent  spin 
ning  toward  a  table  beside  the  piano,  the  soft 
brown  shirt  and  flowing  tie,  down  to  the  small, 
high-heeled  and  spurred  boots,  he  wore  the  dis- 

20 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

tinctive  cowboy  rig  of  the  mountains,  even  to 
the  heavy  hip-holster,  in  which  his  revolver  was 
slung.  He  was,  in  fact,  rather  too  smartly  dressed, 
too  confident  in  manner  to  please  de  Spain,  who 
was  in  no  mood  to  be  pleased  anyway,  and  who 
could  conceive  a  dislike  for  a  man  the  instant  he 
set  eyes  on  him — and  a  liking  as  quickly.  He 
seemed  to  recall,  too,  that  this  particular  fellow 
had  crowed  the  loudest  when  he  himself  forfeited 
the  shooting-match  earlier  in  the  day. 

But  de  Spain,  unamiable  as  he  now  was,  looked 
with  unconcealed  interest  at  the  man's  dancing 
partner.  She,  too,  was  browned  by  the  moun 
tain  sun  and  air — a  slight,  erect  girl,  her  head 
well  set,  and  a  delicate  waist-line  above  a  belted 
brown  skirt,  which  just  reached  the  tops  of  her 
small,  high,  tan  riding-boots.  She  wore  a  soft, 
French-gray  Stetson  hat.  Her  dark-brown  hair 
was  deftly  hidden  under  it,  but  troublesome  ring 
lets  strayed  about  her  ears  as  if  she  had  not  seen 
a  glass  for  hours,  and  these,  standing  first  with 
one  hand  and  then  the  other  laid  against  her 
leather  belt,  she  put  up  into  place,  and  as  if  not 
wholly  at  ease  with  her  surroundings.  Instead 
of  looking  at  her  partner,  who  talked  to  her  while 
waiting,  her  eyes,  noticeably  pretty,  wandered 
about  the  platform,  resting  at  moments  on  the 
closely  drawn  lines  of  spectators.  They  reflected 

21 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

in  their  unrest  the  dissatisfied  expression  of  her 
face.  A  talkative  woman  standing  just  in  front 
of  de  Spain,  told  a  companion  that  the  man  was 
Gale  Morgan,  a  nephew  of  Satterlee,  laziest  of  the 
Morgans.  De  Spain,  who  never  had  to  look 
twice  at  any  woman,  at  once  recognized  in  the 
dancing  partner  the  little  Music  Mountain  girl 
who  had  been  his  undoing  at  the  target;  the 
woman  added  that  Nan  was,  in  some  hazy  degree, 
Gale's  cousin. 

The  energetic  piano  thumped  the  strains  of  a 
two-step.  Gale  Morgan  extended  his  arm  toward 
Nan;  she  looked  very  slight  at  his  side.  But 
instead  of  taking  her  position,  she  drew  back, 
looking  up  and  frowning  as  she  seemed  to  speak 
objectingly  to  Gale.  De  Spain  saw  her  hesita 
tion  without  catching  its  import.  The  talkative 
woman  near  at  hand  was  more  divining.  "Lord, 
that  Nan  Morgan  makes  me  tired,"  she  ex 
claimed  to  her  gum-chewing  companion,  "ever 
see  anything  like  her  ?  First  she  wouldn't  dance 
unless  the  floor  was  cleared — Sleepy  Cat  folks 
ain't  good  enough  for  them  Music  Mountain 
cattle  thieves !  And  now  the  music  doesn't  suit 
her.  Listen  to  that  boob  of  a  boy  trying  one 
piece  after  another  to  get  one  to  suit  my  outlaw 
lady.  Nerve!" 

But  while  the  impatient  woman  chafed  the 
22 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

right  tune  was  found,  and  Nan  Morgan's  face,  as 
she  watched  the  manipulator  of  the  piano,  bright 
ened.  "Faster!"  she  cried  under  her  breath, 
taking  her  position  on  her  cousin's  arm.  Then, 
responding  with  a  sort  of  fiery  impatience  to  her 
partner's  guiding,  she  caught  the  rapid  step  of 
the  music,  and  together  the  two  swept  down  the 
floor. 

Whatever  the  impatience  of  the  crowd  over  the 
finicky  start,  the  spectators  soon  showed  their  ad 
miration  of  the  dancing  with  unrestrained  hand- 
clapping,  and  followed  with  approving  outcries. 
De  Spain,  standing  apart,  watched  Nan's  flying 
feet,  wondering  how  she  and  her  people  could 
possibly  be  what  they  were  painted,  and  whether 
they  really  were  so  or  not.  Every  swaying  step, 
every  agile  turn  proved  how  sure  she  was  of  her 
self,  and  how  perfectly  her  body  answered  to 
every  exaction  of  the  quick  movement  of  the 
dance.  Gale  Morgan  seemed  the  merest  atten 
dant  for  his  partner,  who,  with  quickened  pulses, 
gave  herself  up  more  and  more  to  the  lively  call 
of  the  music. 

Once  the  two  swung  away  out,  near  to  de 
Spain's  corner.  As  Nan  whirled  by,  de  Spain, 
either  with  the  infection  of  the  music  or  from 
her  nearness  to  him,  caught  his  breath.  His  eyes 
riveted  themselves  on  her  flushed  face  as  she 

23 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

passed — oblivious  of  his  presence — and  he  re 
called  how  in  the  morning  she  had  handled  her 
rifle  in  the  same  quick,  sure  way.  De  Spain 
could  not  dance  at  all;  but  no  one  could  success 
fully  accuse  him  of  not  knowing  how  to  handle 
any  sort  of  a  gun.  It  was  only  now,  as  she  came 
so  very  close  to  him  for  the  first  time  since  the 
mortification  of  the  morning,  and  he  saw  the 
smoothness  of  her  pink-brown  cheeks,  that  he 
could  ungrudgingly  give  her  full  credit  for  shoot 
ing  him  down.  He  forgave  her,  unasked,  the 
humiliation  she  had  put  on  him.  He  felt  an  im 
pulse  to  go  up  to  her — now  that  she  had  stopped 
dancing — and  congratulate  her  honestly,  instead 
of  boorishly  as  he  had  done  at  the  match,  and  to 
say,  unreservedly,  that  she  was  the  better  shot — 
indeed,  one  of  the  best  he  had  ever  seen. 

But  while  he  thought  all  of  this  he  did  not  stir 
a  step.  The  two  dancers  at  once  disappeared, 
and  a  new  and  rougher  party  crowded  out  on  the 
floor. 

"Now,  isn't  that  a  pretty  bunch!"  exclaimed 
the  critical  woman  again.  "That's  the  Calabasas 
gang.  Look  at  those  four  men  with  the  red  neck 
erchiefs.  Sandusky,  that  big  fellow,  with  the 
crooked  jaw — Butch,  they  call  him — and  his 
jaw's  not  half  as  crooked  as  Sandusky  himself, 
either.  He  couldn't  lie  in  bed  straight.  And 

24 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

Harvey  Logan,  with  his  black  hair  plastered  over 
his  eyes.  Why,  for  one  drink  those  two  fellows 
would  turn  loose  on  this  crowd  and  kill  half  a 
dozen.  And  there's  two  of  Duke  Morgan's  cow 
boys  with  them,  boozing  old  Bull  Page,  and  that 
squint-eyed  Sassoon — he's  worse  than  the  others, 
that  fellow — a  fine  bunch  to  allow  in  this  town." 

De  Spain  had  excellent  ears.  He  had  heard  of 
these  Calabasas  men — of  Sandusky  and  of  the 
little  fellow,  Logan.  They  had  much  more  than 
a  local  reputation  as  outlaws;  they  were  known 
from  one  end  of  the  Superstition  Range  to  the 
other  as  evil-doers  of  more  than  ordinary  ruth- 
lessness.  De  Spain,  from  force  of  habit,  studied 
every  detail  of  their  make-up.  Both  showed 
more  than  traces  of  drink,  and  both  securing 
partners  joined  rudely  in  the  dancing.  It  had 
become  second  nature  to  de  Spain  to  note  even 
insignificant  details  concerning  men,  and  he  took 
an  interest  in  and  remarked  how  very  low  Logan 
carried  his  gun  in  front  of  his  hip.  Sandusky's 
holster  was  slung  higher  and  farther  back  on  the 
side.  Logan  wore  a  tan  shirt  and  khaki.  San- 
dusky,  coatless,  was  dressed  in  a  white  shirt, 
with  a  red  tie,  and  wore  a  soiled,  figured  waistcoat 
fastened  at  the  bottom  by  a  cut-glass  button. 

The  Sleepy  Cat  gossip  commented  on  how  much 
money  these  men  had  been  spending  all  day. 

25 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

She  wondered  aloud,  reckless  apparently  of  con 
sequences,  who  had  been  robbed,  lately,  to  pro 
vide  it.  Her  companion  scolded  her  for  stirring 
up  talk  that  might  make  trouble;  averred  she 
didn't  believe  half  the  stories  she  heard;  asserted 
that  these  men  lived  quietly  at  Calabasas,  mind 
ing  their  own  affairs.  "And  they're  kind  to  poor 
folks,  too."  "Sure,"  grimaced  the  obdurate  one, 
"with  other  people's  money."  De  Spain  had  no 
difficulty  in  placing  the  two  women.  One  was 
undoubtedly  the  wife  of  a  railroad  man,  who  hated 
the  mountain  outlaws,  and  the  other  was,  with 
equal  certainty,  a  town  sympathizer  with  slan 
dered  men,  and  the  two  represented  the  two  com 
munity  elements  in  Sleepy  Cat. 

De  Spain,  discontented,  turning  again  into 
Main  Street,  continued  on  toward  the  Thief 
River  stage  barn.  He  knew  an  old  Scotch  Medi 
cine  Bend  barnman  that  worked  there,  a  boy 
hood  friend;  but  the  man,  McAlpin,  was  out. 
After  looking  the  horses  over  and  inspecting  the 
wagons  with  a  new  but  mild  curiosity,  awakened 
by  Jeffries's  proposal,  de  Spain  walked  back  to 
ward  the  station.  He  had  virtually  decided  not  to 
take  the  job  that  Jeffries  painted  as  so  attractive, 
and  resolved  now  to  take  the  night  train  back  to 
Medicine  Bend.  Medicine  Bend  was  his  home. 
He  knew  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the 

26 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

town.  Before  the  tragic  death  of  his  father,  his 
mother  had  lived  there,  and  de  Spain  had  grown 
up  in  the  town  and  gone  to  school  there.  He  was 
a  railroad  man,  anyway — a  modest  trainmaster — 
and  not  eager  for  stage-line  management. 

The  prospect  of  reducing  the  Sinks  to  a  law- 
and-order  basis  at  his  own  proper  risk  could  not 
be  alluring  to  the  most  aggressive  of  law-and-order 
men — and  de  Spain  was  not  aggressive.  Yet 
within  a  moment  of  his  sensible  decision  he  was 
to  be  hurried  by  a  mere  accident  to  an  exactly 
contrary  fate. 

As  he  passed  Grant  Street  again  he  encoun 
tered  a  party  on  horseback  heading  for  the  river 
bridge.  Trotting  their  horses  leisurely,  they 
turned  the  corner  directly  in  front  of  de  Spain. 
There  were  five  in  the  company.  Three  of  the 
men  were  riding  abreast  and  a  little  ahead.  Of 
these,  the  middle  horseman  was  a  spare  man  of 
forty  years,  with  a  black  military  hat,  and  a 
frankly  disreputable  air.  His  face  was  drawn  up 
into  a  one-sided  smile,  marked  by  a  deep,  vertical 
wrinkle  running  up,  close  to  his  nose,  from  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  almost  to  the  inner  corner  of 
his  eye.  Satt  Morgan's  smile  was  habitual  and 
lessened  his  stern  aspect.  At  his  right  rode  his 
cousin,  Duke  Morgan,  older,  shorter,  and  stouter. 
His  square,  heavy-jawed,  smooth-shaven  face  was 

27 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

lighted  by  hard,  keen  eyes,  and  finished  by  an  un 
compromising  chin.  Duke  was  the  real  head  of 
the  clan,  of  which  there  were  numerous  branches 
in  the  Superstition  Mountains,  all  looking  with 
friendliness  or  enmity  to  the  Morgans  of  Mor 
gan's  Gap. 

The  yellow-haired  man  riding  on  the  left,  with 
a  red  face  and  red-lidded,  squinting  eyes,  was  in 
stature  something  between  the  two  Morgans,  and 
about  the  age  of  the  elder  cousin.  His  shoulders 
slouched,  and  he  showed  none  of  the  blood  of 
his  companions.  But  this  man,  David  Sassoon, 
the  Calabasas  gambler,  quondam  cowboy,  and 
chronic  brawler,  stood  in  some  way  close  to  the 
different  Morgans,  and  was  reputed  to  have  got 
each  of  them,  at  different  times,  out  of  more  than 
one  troublesome  affair,  either  by  sheer  force  of 
arms,  or  through  his  resourceful  cunning. 

These  men  were  followed  by  a  younger  man 
riding  with  a  very  young  woman.  De  Spain  knew 
none  of  the  front-rank  men,  but  he  knew  well 
Nan  Morgan  and  her  dancing  partner. 

They  were  talking  together,  and  Nan  seemed 
from  her  manner  at  odds  with  her  companion. 
He  appeared  to  be  trying  to  laugh  the  situation 
off  when  he  caught  sight  of  de  Spain  pausing  for 
them  to  pass.  Gale's  face  lighted  as  he  set  eyes 
on  him,  and  he  spoke  quickly  to  Nan.  De  Spain 

28 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

could  not  at  first  hear  his  words,  but  he  needed  no 
ears  to  interpret  his  laugh  and  the  expression  on 
his  face.  Nan,  persistently  importuned,  looked 
around.  She  saw  de  Spain,  much  closer,  it  would 
seem,  than  she  had  expected  to  see  a  man  looking 
directly  at  her,  and  her  eyes  rested  on  him  only 
a  moment.  The  substance  of  her  cousin's  words 
she  apparently  had  not  caught,  and  he  repeated 
them  in  a  louder  voice:  "There's  your  handsome 
Medicine  Bend  gunman!" 

Nan,  glancing  again  toward  de  Spain,  seemed 
aware  that  he  heard.  She  looked  away.  De 
Spain  tightened  up  with  a  rage.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  face,  the  sarcasm  struck  in.  If  the 
birthmark  could  have  deepened  with  humiliation 
it  would  have  done  so  at  the  instant  of  the  cold 
inspection  of  the  girl's  pretty  eyes.  But  he  cared 
less  for  Nan's  inspection,  cold  as  it  was,  than  for 
the  jibe  of  her  satisfied  cousin.  Not  content, 
Gale,  calling  ahead  to  the  others,  invited  their  at 
tention  to  the  man  on  the  street  corner.  De 
Spain  felt  minded  to  hurl  an  insult  at  them  in  a 
body.  It  would  have  been  four  to  one — rather 
awkward  odds  even  if  they  were  mounted — and 
there  was  a  woman.  But  he  only  stood  still,  re 
turning  their  inspection  as  insolently  as  silence 
could.  Each  face  was  faithfully  photographed 
and  filed  in  his  memory,  and  his  steady  gaze  fol- 

29 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

lowed  them  until  they  rode  down  the  hill  and 
clattered  jauntily  out  on  the  swaying  suspension 
bridge  that  still  crosses  the  Rat  River  at  Grant 
Street,  and  connects  the  whole  south  country — 
the  Spanish  Sinks,  the  Thief  River  gold-fields,  the 
saw-toothed  Superstition  Range,  Morgan's  Gap, 
and  Music  Mountain  with  Sleepy  Cat  and  the 
railroad. 

De  Spain,  walking  down  Grant  Street,  watched 
the  party  disappear  among  the  hills  across  the 
river.  The  encounter  had  stirred  him.  He  al 
ready  hated  the  Morgans,  at  least  all  except  the 
blue-eyed  girl,  and  she,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
divine  from  her  expression,  was,  at  least,  disdain 
ful  of  her  morning  rival. 

Reaching  the  station  platform  while  still  busy 
with  his  thoughts,  de  Spain  encountered  Jeffries 
and  Lefever. 

"When  are  you  coming  up  to  take  my  job, 
Henry?"  demanded  the  superintendent  without 
any  parley. 

"I  am  not  coming  up,"  announced  de  Spain 
bluntly. 

"Not  coming  up,  eh  ?  All  right,  we'll  find 
somebody  that  will  come  up,"  retorted  Jeffries. 
"John,"  he  added,  "wire  Medicine  Bend  to  send 
Farrell  Kennedy  here  in  the  morning  to  see  me." 

" What's  the  reason  that  fellow  sticks  so  close 
30 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

to   Medicine    Bend?"    demanded    Jeffries,    when 
Lefever  joined  him  later  in  his  office. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  frowned  Lefever  perplexed. 
"  Don't  ask  me.  Henry  is  odd  in  some  ways. 
You  can't  tell  what's  going  on  inside  that  fellow's 
head  by  looking  at  the  outside  of  it."  Jeffries 
grunted  coldly  at  this  bit  of  wisdom.  "I'll  tell 
you  what  I  should  think — if  I  had  to  think: 
Henry  de  Spain  has  never  found  out  rightly  who 
was  responsible  for  the  death  of  his  father.  He 
expects  to  do  it,  sometime;  and  he  thinks  some 
time  he's  going  to  find  out  right  there  in  Medicine 
Bend." 

While  they  were  talking  the  train  was  pulling 
out  for  Medicine  Bend  with  de  Spain  on  board. 

It  was  a  tedious  ride,  and  de  Spain  was  much 
too  engaged  with  his  thoughts  to  sleep.  The 
Morgans  were  in  his  head,  and  he  could  not  be 
rid  of  them.  He  recalled  having  been  told  that 
long  ago  some  of  these  same  Morgans  lived  on 
the  Peace  River  above  his  father's  ranch.  Every 
story  he  had  ever  heard  of  their  wild  lives,  for 
they  were  men  sudden  in  quarrel  and  reckless  of 
sequel,  came  back  to  his  mind.  He  wondered 
what  sort  of  a  young  girl  this  could  be  who  lived 
among  them — who  could  live  among  them — and 
be  what  she  seemed  at  a  glance  to  be — a  fawn 
among  mountain-wolves. 

31 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

It  was  late  when  he  reached  Medicine  Bend, 
and  raining — a  dismal  kind  of  a  night.  Instead 
of  going  to  his  room,  just  across  the  street  from 
the  station,  he  went  up-stairs  and  sat  down  with 
the  train-despatchers.  After  an  hour  of  inde 
cision,  marked  by  alternative  fits  of  making  up 
and  unmaking  his  mind,  he  went,  instead  of  go 
ing  to  bed,  into  the  telegraph-room,  where  black- 
haired  Dick  Grady  sat  at  a  key. 

"How  about  the  fight  to-night  at  Sleepy  Cat  ?" 
Grady  asked  at  once. 

"What  fight?"  demanded  de  Spain  perfunc 
torily. 

"The  Calabasas  gang  got  to  going  again  up 
there  to-night.  They  say  one  of  the  Morgans 
was  in  it.  Some  town,  that  Sleepy  Cat,  eh, 
Henry?" 

"What  Morgan  was  in  it  ?" 

"Gale  Morgan.  A  lot  of  stuff  came  in  on  it 
an  hour  ago.  Was  there  anything  started  when 
you  left?" 

"I  didn't  hear  of  anything,"  responded  de 
Spain.  But  his  indifference  to  the  subject  was 
marked. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  the  operator. 
"Aren't  you  well  to-night  ?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Sleepy?" 

32 


The  Thief  River  Stage  Line 

De  Spain  roused  himself.  "Dick,  have  you  got 
a  Sleepy  Cat  wire  open  ?" 

"What  do  you  want  ?" 

"Tell  Jeffries  I'll  take  that  Thief  River  stage 
job." 


33 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    SPANISH    SINKS 

T^ROM  a  car  window  at  Sleepy  Cat  may  be 
seen,  stretching  far  down  into  the  southwest 
a  chain  of  towering  peaks,  usually  snow-clad,  that 
dominate  the  desert  in  every  direction  for  almost 
a  hundred  miles.  In  two  extended  groups,  sepa 
rated  by  a  narrow  but  well-defined  break,  they 
constitute  a  magnificent  rampart,  named  by 
Spaniards  the  Superstition  Mountains,  and  they 
stretch  beyond  the  horizon  to  the  south,  along 
the  vast  depression  known  locally  as  the  Spanish 
Sinks.  The  break  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  chain 
comes  about  twenty  miles  southwest  of  Sleepy 
Cat,  and  is  marked  on  the  north  by  the  most 
striking,  and  in  some  respects  most  majestic  peak 
in  the  range — Music  Mountain;  the  break  itself 
has  taken  the  name  of  its  earliest  white  settlers, 
and  is  called  Morgan's  Gap.  No  railroad  has 
ever  yet  penetrated  this  southern  country,  de 
spite  the  fact  that  rich  mines  have  been  opened 
along  these  mountains,  and  are  still  being  opened; 
but  it  lies  to-day  in  much  of  the  condition  of  primi- 

34 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

tive  savagery,  and  lawlessness,  as  the  word  is  con 
ventionally  accepted,  that  obtained  when  the 
first  rush  was  made  for  the  Thief  River  gold- 
fields. 

It  is  not  to  be  understood  that  law  is  an  un 
known  equation  between  Calabasas  and  Thief 
River,  or  even  between  Calabasas  and  Sleepy  Cat. 
But  as  statute  law  it  suffers  so  many  infractions 
as  to  be  hardly  recognizable  in  the  ordinary  sense. 
Business  is  done  in  this  country;  but  business 
must  halt  everywhere  with  its  means  of  communi 
cation,  and  in  the  Music  Mountain  country  it 
still  rests  on  the  facilities  of  a  stage  line.  The 
stage  line  is  a  big  and  vigorous  affair,  a  perfectly 
organized  railroad  adjunct  with  the  best  horses, 
the  best  wagons,  the  best  freighting  outfits  that 
money  can  supply. 

But  this  is  by  no  means,  in  its  civilizing  effect, 
a  railroad.  A  railroad  drives  lawlessness  before 
it — the  Music  Mountain  country  still  leans  on 
stage-line  law.  The  bullion  wagons  still  travel 
the  difficult  roads.  They  look  for  safety  to  their 
armed  horsemen;  the  four  and  six  horse  stages 
look  to  the  armed  guard,  the  wayfarer  must  look 
to  his  horse — and  it  should  be  a  good  one;  the 
mountain  rancher  to  his  rifle,  the  cattle  thief  to 
the  moonless  night,  the  bandit  to  his  wits,  the 
gunman  to  his  holster:  these  include  practically 

35 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

all  of  the  people  that  travel  the  Spanish  Sinks, 
except  the  Morgans  and  the  Mormons.  The 
Mormons  looked  to  the  Morgans  for  safety;  the 
Morgans  to  themselves. 

For  many  a  year  the  Morgans  have  been  al 
most  overlords  of  the  Music  Mountain  country. 
They  own,  or  have  laid  claim  to,  an  extended  ter 
ritory  in  the  mountains,  a  Spanish  grant.  One  of 
the  first  mountain  Morgans  married  a  Spanish 
girl,  and  during  the  early  days,  when  the  Morgans 
were  not  fighting  some  one  out  of  court,  they  were 
fighting  some  one  in  court  on  their  endless  and 
involved  titles. 

But  whether  they  won  domain  in  lawsuit  or 
lost  it,  one  pearl  of  their  holdings  they  never  sub 
mitted  to  the  jurisdiction  of  any  tribunal  other 
than  their  own  arms.  Morgan's  Gap  opens  south 
of  Music  Mountain,  less  than  ten  miles  west  of 
Calabasas.  It  is  a  narrow  valley  where  valleys 
are  more  precious  than  water — for  the  mountain 
valley  means  water — and  this  in  a  country  where 
water  is  much  more  precious  than  life.  And  some 
of  the  best  of  this  land  at  the  foot  of  Music  Moun 
tain  was  the  maternal  inheritance  of  Nan  Morgan. 

At  Calabasas  the  Thief  River  stage  line  main 
tains  completely  equipped  relay  barns.  They  are 
over  twenty  miles  from  Sleepy  Cat,  but  nearly 
fifty  the  other  way  from  Thief  River.  The  un- 

36 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

equal  division  is  not  due  to  what  was  desirable 
when  the  route  was  laid  out,  but  to  the  limit  of 
what  man  could  do  in  the  never-conquered  desert. 
This  supplies  at  Calabasas  a  spring,  to  tempt  the 
unwary  traveller  still  farther  within  its  clutches. 
A  large  number  of  horses  are  kept  at  Calabasas, 
and  the  barn  crews  are  quartered  there  in  a  com 
pany  barrack.  Along  the  low  ridges  and  in  the 
shallow  depressions  about  Calabasas  Spring  there 
are  a  very  few  widely  separated  shacks,  once  built 
by  freighters  and  occupied  by  squatter  outlaws 
to  be  within  reach  of  water.  This  gives  the  vicin 
ity  something  of  the  appearance  of  a  poorly 
sustained  prairie-dog  town.  And  except  these 
shacks,  there  is  nothing  between  Calabasas,  Thief 
River,  and  the  mountains  except  sunshine  and 
alkali.  I  say  nothing,  meaning  especially  noth 
ing  in  the  way  of  a  human  habitation. 

But  there  is  a  queer  inn  at  Calabasas.  A  pi 
oneer  Thief  River  prospector,  mad  with  thirst, 
fought  his  way  across  the  Sinks  to  the  Calabasas 
Spring,  and  wandered  thence  one  day  into  Sleepy 
Cat.  In  a  delirium  of  gratitude  he  ordered  built 
at  Calabasas  what  he  termed  a  hotel,  to  provide 
at  that  forbidden  oasis  for  the  luxurious  comfort 
of  future  thirst-mad  wanderers.  It  was  built  of 
lumber  hauled  a  thousand  miles,  and  equipped 
with  luxuries  brought  three  thousand — a  fearsome, 

37 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

rambling  structure,  big  enough  for  all  the  pros 
pectors  in  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Having  built  this  monument,  creditable  to  his 
good-will  rather  than  his  good  sense,  the  un 
fortunate  man  went  really  mad,  and  had  the  sorry 
distinction  of  being  the  first  person  to  be  put  in 
the  insane  asylum  at  Bear  Dance.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  that  any  one  had  any  title  to, 
or  that  any  madder  man  would  lay  any  claim  to, 
so  accursed  a  spot  as  Calabasas.  But  old  Duke 
Morgan  announced  in  due  time  that  the  hotel 
was  built  on  Morgan  land,  and  belonged  to  the 
Morgans.  Nobody  outside  a  madhouse  could  be 
found  to  dispute  with  Duke  Morgan  a  title  to 
land  within  ten  miles  of  Morgan's  Gap,  and  none 
but  a  lunatic  would  attempt  to  run  a  hotel  at 
Calabasas,  anyway.  However,  a  solution  of  the 
difficulty  was  found:  Duke's  colorable  title  gave 
the  cue  to  his  retainers  in  the  Gap,  and  in  time 
they  carted  away  piecemeal  most  of  the  main 
building,  leaving  for  years  the  kitchen  and  the 
servants'  quarters  adjoining  it  to  owls,  lizards, 
scorpions,  and  spiders. 

Meantime,  to  tap  the  fast-developing  gold- 
fields,  the  freight  route  and  stages  had  been  put 
in,  and  the  barns  built  at  Calabasas.  A  need  nat 
urally  developed  for  at  least  one  feature  of  a 
hotel — a  barroom.  A  newer  lunatic  answered  the 

38 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

call  of  civilization — a  man  only  mildly  insane 
stocked  the  kitchen  range  with  liquors,  and  fitted 
up  in  a  crude  way  the  ice-boxes — where  there  never 
was  ice — serving  pantries,  and  other  odd  nooks  for 
sleeping  quarters.  Here  the  thirsty  stage  pas 
senger,  little  suspecting  the  origin  of  the  facilities 
offered  him  for  a  drink,  may  choose  strong  drink 
instead  of  water — or  rather,  he  is  restricted  to 
strong  drink  where  water  might  once  have  been 
had — the  spring  being  piped  now  half  a  mile  to 
the  barns  for  the  horses.  And  this  shack,  as  it  is 
locally  called,  run  by  a  Mexican,  is  still  the  inn 
at  Calabasas.  And  it  continues  to  contribute, 
through  its  stirring  annals,  to  the  tragic  history 
of  the  continental  divide. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  Duke  Morgan  laid 
claim  also  to  the  Calabasas  Spring.  But  on  this 
the  company,  being  a  corporation,  fought  him. 
And  after  somewhat  less  of  argument  and  some 
what  more  of  siege  and  shooting,  a  compromise 
was  reached  whereby  the  company  bought  an 
nually  at  an  exorbitant  price  all  of  Duke,  Satter- 
lee,  and  Vance  Morgan's  hay,  and  as  the  Morgans 
had  small  rivers  of  water  in  the  mountains,  and 
never,  except  when  crowded,  drank  water,  a 
modus  Vivendi  was  arranged  between  the  claimants. 
The  only  sufferer  through  this  was  the  Mexican 
publican,  who  found  every  Morgan  his  landlord, 

39 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

and  demanding  from  him  tithes  over  the  bar. 
But  force  is  usually  met  with  cunning,  and  such 
Morgans  as  would  not  pay  in  advance  at  Cala 
basas,  when  thirsty,  often  found  the  half-mad 
publican  out  of  goods. 

The  Calabasas  Inn  stood  in  one  of  the  loneliest 
canyons  of  the  whole  seventy  miles  between 
Sleepy  Cat  and  Thief  River;  it  looked  in  its  de 
pletion  to  be  what  it  was,  a  sombre,  mysterious, 
sun,  wind,  and  alkali  beaten  pile,  around  which 
no  one  by  any  chance  ever  saw  a  sign  of  life.  It 
was  a  ruin  like  those  pretentious  deserted  struc 
tures  sometimes  seen  in  frontier  towns — relics  of 
the  wide-open  days,  which  stand  afterward,  stark 
and  sombre,  to  serve  as  bats'  nests  or  blind-pigs. 
The  inn  at  Calabasas  looked  its  part — a  haunt  of 
rustlers,  a  haven  of  nameless  men,  a  refuge  of 
road-agents. 

The  very  first  time  de  Spain  made  an  inspec 
tion  trip  over  the  stage  line  with  Lefever,  he  was 
conscious  of  the  sinister  air  of  this  lonely  build 
ing.  He  and  Lefever  had  ridden  down  from  the 
barn,  while  their  horses  were  being  changed,  to 
look  at  the  place.  De  Spain  wanted  to  look  over 
everything  connected  in  any  way,  however  re 
motely,  with  the  operation  of  his  wagons,  and  this 
joint,  Lefever  had  told  him,  was  where  the  freight 
ers  and  drivers  were  not  infrequently  robbed  of 

40 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

their  money.  It  was  here  that  one  of  their  own 
men,  Bill  McCarty,  once  "scratched  a  man's 
neck"  with  a  knife — which,  Bill  explained,  he  just 
"happened"  to  have  in  his  hand — for  cheating  at 
cards.  Lefever  pointed  out  the  unlucky  gambler's 
grave  as  he  and  de  Spain  rode  into  the  canyon 
toward  the  inn. 

Not  a  sign  of  any  sort  was  displayed  about  the 
habitation.  No  man  was  invited  to  enter,  no 
man  warned  to  keep  out,  none  was  anywhere  in 
sight.  The  stage  men  dismounted,  threw  their 
lines,  pushed  open  the  front  door  of  the  house  and 
entered  a  room  of  perhaps  sixteen  by  twenty  feet. 
It  had  been  the  original  barroom.  A  long,  high, 
elaborately  carved  mahogany  bar,  as  much  out  of 
keeping  as  it  possibly  could  be  with  its  surround 
ings,  stretched  across  the  farther  side  of  the  room. 
The  left  end,  as  they  faced  the  bar,  was  brought 
around  to  escape  a  small  window  opening  on  a 
court  or  patio  to  the  rear  of  the  room.  Back  of 
the  bar  itself,  about  midway,  a  low  door  in  the 
bare  wall  gave  entrance  to  a  rear  room.  Aside 
from  this  big,  queer-looking  piece  of  mahogany, 
the  low  window  at  the  left  end  of  it,  and  the  low 
door  at  the  back,  the  room  presented  nothing  but 
walls.  Two  windows  flanking  the  front  door 
helped  to  light  it,  but  not  a  mirror,  picture,  chair, 
table,  bottle,  or  glass  was  to  be  seen.  De  Spain 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

covered  every  feature  of  the  interior  at  a  glance. 
"Quiet  around  here,  John,"  he  remarked  casually. 

"This  is  the  quietest  place  in  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains  most  of  the  time.  But  when  it  is  noisy,  be 
lieve  me,  it  is  noisy.  Look  at  the  bullet-holes  in 
the  walls." 

"The  old  story,"  remarked  de  Spain,  inspecting 
with  mild-mannered  interest  the  punctured  plas 
tering,  "they  always  shoot  high." 

He  walked  over  to  the  left  end  of  the  bar,  not 
ing  the  hard  usage  shown  by  the  ornate  mahogany, 
and  spreading  his  hands  wide  open,  palms  down, 
on  the  face  of  it,  glanced  at  the  low  window  on 
his  left,  opening  on  the  gravelled  patio.  He 
peered,  in  the  semidarkness,  at  the  battered  door 
behind  the  bar. 

"Henry,"  observed  Lefever,  "if  you  are  look 
ing  for  a  drink,  it  would  only  be  fair,  as  well  as 
politic,  to  call  the  Mexican." 

"Thank  you,  John,  Fm  not  looking  for  one. 
And  I  know  you  don't  drink." 

"You  want  to  know,  then,  where  the  Mexican 
keeps  his  gun?"  hazarded  Lefever. 

"Not  especially.     I  just  want  to  know " 

"Everything." 

"What's  behind  the  bar.  That's  natural,  isn't 
it?" 

Very  complete  fittings  and  compartments  told 
42 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

of  the  labor  spent  in  preparing  this  inner  side  for 
the  convenience  of  the  bartender  and  the  require 
ments  of  exacting  patrons,  but  nothing  in  the  way 
of  equipment,  not  so  much  as  a  pewter  spoon, 
lay  anywhere  visible. 

De  Spain,  turning,  looked  all  around  the  room 
again.  "You  wouldn't  think,"  he  said  slowly, 
"from  looking  at  the  place  there  was  a  road-agent 
within  a  thousand  miles." 

"You  wouldn't  think,  from  riding  through  the 
Superstition  Mountains  there  was  a  lion  within  a 
thousand  miles.  I've  hunted  them  for  eleven 
years,  and  I  never  saw  one  except  when  the  dogs 
drove  'em  out;  but  for  eleven  years  they  saw  me. 
If  we  haven't  been  seen  coming  in  here  by  some 
of  this  Calabasas  bunch,  I  miss  my  guess,"  de 
clared  Lefever  cheerfully. 

The  batten  door  behind  the  bar  now  began  to 
open  slowly  and  noiselessly.  Lefever  peered 
through  it.  "Come  in,  Pedro,"  he  cried  reassur 
ingly,  "come  in,  man.  This  is  no  officer,  no 
revenue  agent  looking  for  your  license.  Meet  a 
friend,  Pedro,"  he  continued  encouragingly,  as 
the  swarthy  publican,  low-browed  and  sullen, 
emerged  very  deliberately  from  the  inner  dark 
ness  into  the  obscurity  of  the  barroom,  and  bent 
his  one  good  eye  searchingly  on  de  Spain.  "This," 
Lefever's  left  hand  lay  familiarly  on  the  back  of 

43 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

de  Spam's  shoulder,  "is  our  new  manager,  Mr. 
Henry  de  Spain.  Henry,  shake  hands  with 
Mexico." 

This  invitation  to  shake  hands  seemed  an 
empty  formality.  De  Spain  never  shook  hands 
with  anybody;  at  least  if  he  did  so,  he  extended, 
through  habit  long  inured,  his  left  hand,  with  an 
excuse  for  the  soreness  of  his  right.  Pedro  did 
not  even  bat  his  remaining  eye  at  the  invitation. 
The  situation,  as  Lefever  facetiously  remarked, 
remained  about  where  it  was  before  he  spoke,  and 
nothing  daunted,  he  asked  de  Spain  what  he  would 
drink.  De  Spain  sidestepped  again  by  asking 
for  a  cigar.  Lefever,  professing  he  would  not 
drink  alone,  called  for  cigarettes.  While  Pedro 
produced  them,  from  nowhere  apparently,  as  a 
conjurer  picks  cards  out  of  the  air,  the  sound  of 
galloping  horses  came  through  the  open  door.  A 
moment  later  three  men  walked,  single  file,  into 
the  room.  De  Spain  stood  at  the  left  end  of  the 
bar,  and  Lefever  introduced  him  to  Gale  Morgan, 
to  David  Sassoon,  and  to  Sassoon's  crony,  Deaf 
Sandusky,  as  the  new  stage-line  manager.  The 
later  arrivals  lined  up  before  the  bar,  Sandusky 
next  to  Lefever  and  de  Spain,  so  he  could  hear 
what  was  said.  Pedro  from  his  den  produced 
two  queer-looking  bottles  and  a  supply  of  glasses. 

"De  Spain,"  Gale  Morgan  began  bluntly,  "one 
44 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

of  our  men  was  put  off  a  stage  of  yours  last  week 
by  Frank  Elpaso."  He  spoke  without  any  pre 
liminary  compliments,  and  his  heavy  voice  was 
bellicose. 

De  Spain,  regarding  him  undisturbed,  answered 
after  a  little  pause:  "Elpaso  told  me  he  put  a 
man  off  his  stage  last  week  for  fighting." 

"No,"  contradicted  Morgan  loudly,  "not  for 
fighting.  Elpaso  was  drunk." 

"What's  the  name  of  the  man  Elpaso  put  off, 
John?"  asked  de  Spain,  looking  at  Lefever. 

Morgan  hooked  his  thumb  toward  the  man 
standing  at  his  side.  "Here's  the  man  right  here, 
Dave  Sassoon." 

Sassoon  never  looked  a  man  in  the  face  when 
the  man  looked  at  him,  except  by  implication; 
it  was  almost  impossible,  without  surprising  him, 
to  catch  his  eyes  with  your  eyes.  He  seemed  now 
to  regard  de  Spain  keenly,  as  the  latter,  still  at 
tending  to  Morgan's  statement,  replied:  "Elpaso 
tells  a  pretty  straight  story." 

"Elpaso  couldn't  tell  a  straight  story  if  he 
tried,"  interjected  Sassoon. 

"I  have  the  statement  of  three  other  passen 
gers;  they  confirm  Elpaso.  According  to  them, 
Sassoon — "  de  Spain  looked  straight  at  the  ac 
cused,  "was  drunk  and  abusive,  and  kept  trying 
to  put  some  of  the  other  passengers  off.  Finally 

45 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

he  put  his  feet  in  the  lap  of  Pumperwasser,  our 
tank  and  windmill  man,  and  Pumperwasser  hit 
him." 

Morgan,  stepping  back  from  the  bar,  waved  his 
hand  with  an  air  of  finality  toward  his  inoffensive 
companion:  "Here  is  Sassoon,  right  here — he  can 
tell  the  whole  story." 

"Those  fellows  were  miners,"  muttered  Sas 
soon.  His  utterance  was  broken,  but  he  spoke 
fast.  "They'll  side  with  the  guards  every  time 
against  a  cattleman." 

"There's  only  one  fair  thing  to  do,  de  Spain," 
declared  Morgan.  He  looked  severely  at  de  Spain : 
"Discharge  Elpaso." 

De  Spain,  his  hands  resting  on  the  bar,  drew 
one  foot  slowly  back.  "Not  on  the  showing  I 
have  now,"  he  said.  "One  of  the  passengers  who 
joined  in  the  statement  is  Jeffries,  the  railroad 
superintendent  at  Sleepy  Cat." 

"Expect  a  railroad  superintendent  to  tell  the 
truth  about  a  Calabasas  man?"  demanded  Sas 
soon. 

"I  should  expect  him  at  least  to  be  sober,"  re 
torted  de  Spain. 

"Sassoon,"  interposed  Morgan  belligerently, 
"is  a  man  whose  word  can  always  be  depended 


on." 


rTo  convey  his  meaning,"  intervened  Lefever 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

cryptically.  "Of  course,  I  know/'  he  asserted, 
earnest  to  the  point  of  vehemence.  "Every  one 
in  Calabasas  has  the  highest  respect  for  Sassoon. 
That  is  understood.  And,"  he  added  with  as 
much  impressiveness  as  if  he  were  talking  sense, 
"everybody  in  Calabasas  would  be  sorry  to  see 
Sassoon  put  off  a  stage.  But  Sassoon  is  off:  that 
is  the  situation.  We  are  sorry.  If  it  occurs 
again- " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  thundered  Morgan,  re 
senting  the  interference.  "De  Spain  is  the  man 
ager,  isn't  he  ?  What  we  want  to  know  is,  what 
you  are  going  to  do  about  it  ?"  he  demanded,  ad 
dressing  de  Spain  again. 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done,"  returned 
de  Spain  composedly.  "I've  already  told  Elpaso 
if  Sassoon  starts  another  fight  on  a  stage  to  put 
him  off  again." 

Morgan's  fist  came  down  on  the  bar.  "Look 
here,  de  Spain !  You  come  from  Medicine  Bend, 
don't  you  ?  Well,  you  can't  bully  Music  Moun 
tain  men — understand  that." 

"Any  time  you  have  a  real  grievance,  Morgan, 
I'll  be  glad  to  consider  it,"  said  de  Spain.  "When 
one  of  your  men  is  drunk  and  quarrelsome  he  will 
be  put  off  like  any  other  disturber.  That  we  can't 
avoid.  Public  stages  can't  be  run  any  other 
way." 

47 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"All  right,"  retorted  Morgan.  "If  you  take 
that  tack  for  your  new  management,  we'll  see  how 
you  get  along  running  stages  down  in  this  coun- 
try" 

"We  will  run  them  peaceably,  just  as  long  as 
we  can,"  smiled  de  Spain.  "We  will  get  on  with 
everybody  that  gives  us  a  chance." 

Morgan  pointed  a  finger  at  him.  "I  give  you 
a  chance,  de  Spain,  right  now.  Will  you  dis 
charge  Elpaso?" 

"No." 

Morgan  almost  caught  his  breath  at  the  refusal. 
But  de  Spain  could  be  extremely  blunt,  and  in 
the  parting  shots  between  the  two  he  gave  no 
ground. 

"Jeffries  put  me  here  to  stop  this  kind  of  row 
dyism  on  the  stages,"  he  said  to  Lefever  on  their 
way  back  to  the  barn.  "This  is  a  good  time  to 
begin.  And  Sassoon  and  Gale  Morgan  are  good 
men  to  begin  with,"  he  added. 

As  the  horses  of  the  two  men  emerged  from 
the  canyon  they  saw  a  slender  horsewoman  riding 
in  toward  the  barn  from  the  Music  Mountain 
trail.  She  stopped  in  front  of  McAlpin,  the  barn 
boss,  who  stood  outside  the  office  door.  McAl 
pin,  the  old  Medicine  Bend  barnman,  had  been 
promoted  from  Sleepy  Cat  by  the  new  manager. 
De  Spain  recognized  the  roan  pony,  but,  aside 

48 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

from  that,  a  glance  at  the  figure  of  the  rider,  as 
she  sat  with  her  back  to  him,  was  enough  to  as 
sure  him  of  Nan  Morgan.  He  spurred  ahead  fast 
enough  to  overhear  a  request  she  was  making  of 
McAlpin  to  mail  a  letter  for  her.  She  also  asked 
McAlpin,  just  as  de  Spain  drew  up,  whether  the 
down  stage  had  passed.  McAlpin  told  her  it 
had.  De  Spain,  touching  his  hat,  spoke:  "I  am 
going  right  up  to  Sleepy  Cat.  I'll  mail  your  letter 
if  you  wish." 

She  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise,  and  then 
glanced  toward  Lefever,  who  now  rode  up.  De 
Spain  was  holding  out  his  hand  for  the  letter. 
His  eyes  met  Nan's,  and  each  felt  the  moment 
was  a  sort  of  challenge.  De  Spain,  a  little  self- 
conscious  under  her  inspection,  was  aware  only 
of  her  rather  fearless  eyes  and  the  dark  hair  under 
her  fawn  cowboy  hat. 

"Thank  you,"  she  responded  evenly.  "If  the 
stage  is  gone  I  will  hold  it  to  add  something." 
So  saying,  she  tucked  the  letter  inside  her  blouse 
and  spoke  to  her  pony,  which  turned  leisurely 
down  the  road. 

"I'm  trying  to  get  acquainted  with  your  coun 
try  to-day,"  returned  de  Spain,  managing  with 
his  knee  to  keep  his  own  horse  moving  alongside 
Nan  as  she  edged  away. 

She  seemed  disinclined  to  answer,  but  the  silence 
49 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

and  the  awkwardness  of  his  presence  drew  at 
length  a  dry  disclaimer:  "This  is  not  my  coun- 
try." 

"I  understood/'  exclaimed  de  Spain,  following 
his  doubtful  advantage,  "y°u  lived  out  this  way." 

"I  live  near  Music  Mountain/'  returned  Nan 
somewhat  ungraciously,  using  her  own  skill  at  the 
same  time  to  walk  her  horse  away  from  her  un 
welcome  companion. 

"I've  heard  of  Music  Mountain,"  continued  de 
Spain,  urging  his  lagging  steed.  "I've  often 
wanted  to  get  over  there  to  hunt." 

Nan,  without  speaking,  ruthlessly  widened  the 
distance  between  the  two.  De  Spain  unobtru 
sively  spurred  his  steed  to  greater  activity.  "You 
must  have  a  great  deal  of  game  around  you.  Do 
you  hunt?"  he  asked. 

He  knew  she  was  famed  as  a  huntress,  but  he 
could  make  no  headway  whatever  against  her 
studied  reserve.  He  watched  her  hands,  graceful 
even  in  heavy  gloves;  he  noticed  the  neck-piece 
of  her  tan  blouse,  and  liked  the  brown  throat 
and  the  chin  set  so  resolutely  against  him.  He 
surmised  that  she  perhaps  felt  some  contempt  for 
him  because  she  had  outshot  him,  and  he  con 
tinued  to  ask  about  game,  hoping  for  a  chance  in 
some  far-off  time  to  redeem  his  marksmanship 
before  her  and  giving  her  every  possible  chance  to 

50 


The  Spanish  Sinks 

invite    him    to  try   the   hunting   around  Music 
Mountain. 

She  was  deaf  to  the  broadest  hints;  and  when 
at  length  she  excused  herself  and  turned  her  pony 
from  the  Sleepy  Cat  road  into  the  Morgan  Gap 
trail,  de  Spain  had  been  defeated  in  every  attempt 
to  arouse  the  slightest  interest  in  anything  he  had 
said.  But,  watching  with  regret,  at  the  parting, 
the  trim  lines  of  her  figure  as  she  dashed  away  on 
the  desert  trail,  seated  as  if  a  part  of  her  spirited 
horse,  he  felt  only  a  fast-rising  resolution  to  at 
tempt  again  to  break  through  her  stubborn  ret 
icence  and  know  her  better. 


CHAPTER  IV 


FIRST    BLOOD    AT    CALABASAS 


more  than  de  Spain's  announce 
ment  that  he  would  sustain  his  stage-guards 
was  necessary  to  arouse  a  violent  resentment  at 
Calabasas  and  among  the  Morgan  following.  Some 
of  the  numerous  disaffected  were  baiting  the 
stages  most  of  the  time.  They  bullied  the  guards, 
fought  the  passengers,  and  fomented  discontent 
among  the  drivers.  In  all  Thief  River  dis 
turbances,  whether  a  raid  on  cattlemen,  a  stage 
hold-up,  a  gun  fight,  or  a  tedious  war  of  words, 
the  Calabasas  men,  sometimes  apparently  for  the 
mere  maintaining  of  prestige,  appeared  to  take 
leading  roles.  After  de  Spain's  declaration  the 
grievance  against  Elpaso  was  made  a  general  one 
along  the  line.  His  stage  was  singled  out  and 
ridden  at  times  both  by  Sandusky  and  Logan  — 
the  really  dangerous  men  of  the  Spanish  Sinks  — 
and  by  Gale  Morgan  and  Sassoon  to  stir  up 
trouble. 

But  old  Frank  Elpaso  was  far  from  being  a 
fool.     A  fight  with  any  one  of  these  men  meant 

52 


First  Blood  at  Calabasas 

that  somebody  would  be  killed,  and  no  one  could 
tell  just  who,  Elpaso  shrewdly  reckoned,  until 
the  roll-call  at  the  end  of  it.  He  therefore  met 
truculence  with  diplomacy,  threatening  looks  with 
flattery,  and  hard  words  with  a  long  story.  More 
over,  all  Calabasas  knew  that  Elpaso,  if  he  had 
to,  would  fight,  and  that  the  eccentric  guard  was 
not  actually  to  be  cornered  with  impunity.  Even 
Logan,  who,  like  Sandusky,  was  known  to  be  with 
out  fear  and  without  mercy,  felt  at  least  a  re 
spect  for  Elpaso's  shortened  shotgun,  and  stopped 
this  side  actual  hostilities  with  him.  When  the 
June  clean-up  of  the  No.  2  Thief  River  mine  came 
through — one  hundred  and  six  thousand  dollars 
in  gold  bullion  under  double  guard — and  a  Cala 
basas  contingent  of  night-riders  tried  to  stop  the 
treasure,  rumor  along  the  Sinks  had  it  that  El 
paso's  slugs,  delivered  at  the  right  moment,  were 
responsible  for  Deaf  Sandusky's  long  illness  at 
Bear  Dance,  and  the  failure  of  the  subsequent 
masked  attack  on  the  up  stage. 

Sassoon,  however,  owing  to  the  indignity  now 
put  upon  him,  also  nourished  a  particular  griev 
ance  against  the  meditative  guard,  and  his  was 
one  not  tempered  either  by  prudence  or  calcula 
tion.  His  chance  came  one  night  when  Elpaso 
had  unwisely  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  a 
card  game  at  Calabasas  Inn.  Elpaso  was  no- 

53 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

toriously  a  stickler  for  a  square  deal  at  cards. 
He  was  apparently  the  only  man  at  Calabasas 
that  hoped  for  such  a  thing,  and  certainly  the 
only  one  so  rash  as  to  fight  for  it — yet  he  always 
did.  A  dispute  on  this  occasion  found  him  with 
out  a  friend  in  the  room.  Sassoon  reached  for 
him  with  a  knife. 

McAlpin  was  the  first  to  get  the  news  at  the 
barn.  He  gave  first  aid  to  the  helpless  guard,  and, 
without  dreaming  he  could  be  got  to  a  surgeon 
alive,  rushed  him  in  a  light  wagon  to  the  hospital 
at  Sleepy  Cat,  where  it  was  said  that  he  must 
have  more  lives  than  a  wildcat.  Sassoon,  not 
caring  to  brave  de  Spain's  anger  in  town,  went 
temporarily  into  hiding.  A  second  surgeon  was 
brought  from  Medicine  Bend,  and  heroic  efforts 
were  put  forth  to  nurse  again  into  life  the  feeble 
spark  the  assassin  had  left  in  the  unlucky  guard. 

Word  of  this  cutting  reached  de  Spain  at  Thief 
River.  He  started  for  Calabasas,  learned  there 
during  a  brief  stop  what  he  could — which  was,  of 
course,  next  to  nothing — of  the  affray,  and  posted 
on  to  Sleepy  Cat. 

A  conference  was  held  in  Jeffries's  office.  De 
Spain,  Lefever,  and  some  of  the  division  staff  dis 
cussed  the  situation  raised  by  the  affair.  De 
Spain  was  instructed  to  see  that  Sassoon  was 
brought  in  and  made  an  example  of  for  the  bene- 

54 


First  Blood  at  Calabasas 

fit  of  his  Calabasas  friends.  Accordingly,  while 
the  guard's  life  hung  in  the  balance,  the  sheriff, 
Jim  Druel,  was  despatched  after  Sassoon.  A 
great  deal  of  inquiry,  much  riding,  and  a  lot  of 
talk  on  Druel's  part  accomplished  nothing. 

Lefever  spoiled  with  impatience  to  get  after 
Sassoon.  "The  only  way  we'll  ever  get  one  of 
that  gang  is  to  go  for  him  ourselves,"  said  he. 
The  sheriff's  campaign  did  collapse.  Sassoon 
could  not  be  found  although  rumor  was  notorious 
that  he  continued  to  haunt  Calabasas.  Lefever's 
irritation  grew.  "Never  mind,  John,"  coun 
selled  de  Spain,  "forget  about  wanting  him. 
Sometime  one  of  us  will  stumble  on  him,  and  when 
we  do  we'll  shackle  him."  The  precaution  was 
taken,  meantime,  to  secure  a  warrant  for  the 
missing  man,  together  with  authority  for  either 
of  the  two  to  serve  it.  Elpaso,  in  the  end,  justi 
fied  his  old  reputation  by  making  a  recovery — 
haltingly,  it  is  true,  and  with  perilous  intervals  of 
sinking,  but  a  recovery. 

It  was  while  he  still  lay  in  the  hospital  and 
hope  was  very  low  that  de  Spain  and  Lefever 
rode,  one  hot  morning,  into  Calabasas  and  were 
told  by  McAlpin  that  Sassoon  had  been  seen 
within  five  minutes  at  the  inn.  To  Lefever  the 
news  was  like  a  bubbling  spring  to  a  thirsty  man. 
His  face  beamed,  he  tightened  his  belt,  shook  out 

55 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

his  gun,  and  looked  with  benevolent  interest  on 
de  Spain,  who  stood  pondering.  "If  you  will 
stay  right  here,  Henry,"  he  averred  convincingly, 
"I  will  go  over  and  get  Sassoon." 

The  chief  stage-guard,  Bob  Scott,  the  Indian, 
was  in  the  barn.  He  smiled  at  Lefever's  enthu 
siasm.  "Sassoon,"  said  he,  "is  slippery." 

"  You'd  better  let  us  go  along  and  see  you  do 
it,"  suggested  de  Spain,  who  with  the  business  in 
hand  grew  thoughtful. 

"Gentlemen,  I  thank  you,"  protested  Lefever, 
raising  one  hand  in  deprecation,  the  other  resting 
lightly  on  his  holster.  "We  still  have  some  little 
reputation  to  maintain  along  the  Sinks.  Don't 
let  us  make  it  a  posse  for  Sassoon."  No  one  op 
posed  him  further,  and  he  rode  away  alone. 

"It  won't  be  any  trouble  for  John  to  bring  Sas 
soon  in,"  murmured  Scott,  who  spoke  with  a 
smile  and  in  the  low  tone  and  deliberate  manner 
of  the  Indian,  "if  he  can  find  him." 

With  de  Spain  Scott  remained  in  front  of  the 
barn,  saddled  horses  in  hand.  They  could  see 
nothing  of  the  scene  of  action,  and  de  Spain  was 
forced  in  idleness  to  curb  his  impatience.  Le 
fever  rode  down  to  the  inn  without  seeing  a  living 
thing  anywhere  about  it.  When  he  dismounted 
in  front  he  thought  he  heard  sounds  within  the 
barroom,  but,  pushing  open  the  door  and  looking 

56 


First  Blood  at  Calabasas 

circumspectly  into  the  room  before  entering,  he 
was  surprised  to  find  it  empty. 

There  was  something,  under  the  circumstances 
and  in  the  stimulus  of  danger,  almost  uncanny  in 
the  silence,  the  absence  of  any  life  whatever  about 
the  place.  Lefever  walked  cautiously  inside;  there 
seemed  no  need  of  caution.  No  one  was  there 
to  confront  or  oppose  him.  Surveying  the  in 
terior  with  a  rapid  glance,  he  walked  to  the  left 
end  of  the  bar  and,  gun  in  readiness,  looked  appre 
hensively  behind  it.  Not  so  much  as  a  strainer 
was  to  be  seen  underneath.  He  noticed,  however, 
that  the  sash  of  the  low  window  on  his  left,  which 
looked  into  the  patio,  was  open,  and  two  heel- 
marks  in  the  hard  clay  suggested  that  a  man 
might  have  jumped  through.  Whether  these  were 
Sassoon's  heels  or  another's,  Lefever  decided  they 
constituted  his  clew,  and,  running  out  of  the  front 
door,  he  sprang  into  his  saddle  and  rode  to  where 
he  could  signal  de  Spain  and  Scott  to  come  up. 

He  told  his  story  as  they  joined  him,  and  the 
three  returned  to  the  inn.  Scott  rode  directly  to 
the  rear.  Lefever  took  de  Spain  in  to  the  bar, 
showed  him  the  open  sash,  and  pointed  to  the 
heel-prints.  De  Spain  stepped  through  the  win 
dow,  Lefever  following.  An  examination  showed 
the  slide  of  a  spur-rowel  behind  one  heel-mark 
and  indications  of  a  hasty  jump. 

57 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

While  they  bent  over  the  signs  that  seemed  to 
connect  their  quarry  with  the  place,  a  door 
opened  across  the  courtyard,  and  Pedro  ap 
peared.  He  was  curiously  dense  to  all  inquiries, 
and  Lefever,  convinced  that  Sassoon  was  some 
where  at  hand,  revenged  himself  by  searching  the 
place. 

In  the  dark  kitchen  a  very  old  woman  and  a 
slovenly  girl  were  at  work.  No  one  else  was  to 
be  found  anywhere. 

De  Spain,  who  was  the  more  experienced  tracker, 
thought  he  could  follow  the  footprints  to  the 
arched  opening  across  the  patio.  This  was  closed 
only  by  a  swinging  gate,  and  afforded  easy  escape 
from  a  pursuer.  At  some  distance  outside  this 
gate,  as  de  Spain  threw  it  open,  sat  Bob  Scott  on 
his  horse.  De  Spain  made  inquiry  of  Scott.  No 
one  had  been  seen.  Returning  to  Lefever,  who, 
greatly  chagrined,  had  convinced  himself  that 
Sassoon  had  got  away,  de  Spain  called  Scott  into 
the  patio. 

A  better  tracker  than  either  of  his  companions, 
Scott  after  a  minute  confirmed  their  belief  that 
Sassoon  must  have  escaped  by  the  window.  He 
then  took  the  two  men  out  to  where  some  one, 
within  a  few  minutes,  had  mounted  a  horse  and 
galloped  off. 

"But  where  has  he  gone?"  demanded  Lefever, 
58 


First  Blood  at  Calabasas 

pointing  with  his  hand.  "There  is  the  road  both 
ways  for  three  miles."  Scott  nodded  toward  the 
snow-capped  peak  of  Music  Mountain.  "Over 
to  Morgan's,  most  likely.  He  knows  no  one 
would  follow  him  into  the  Gap.  Just  for  fun, 
now,  let's  see." 

Dismounting,  the  Indian  scrutinized  the  hoof- 
prints  where  the  horse  had  stood.  Getting  into 
the  saddle  again,  he  led  the  way,  bending  over  his 
horse's  neck  and  stopping  frequently  to  read  the 
trail,  half  a  mile  out  along  the  Gap  road,  until  he 
could  once  more  readily  point  out  the  hoof-prints 
to  his  companions.  "That  is  Sassoon,"  he  an 
nounced.  "I  know  the  heels.  And  I  know  he 
rides  this  horse;  it  belongs  to  Gale  Morgan. 
Sassoon,"  Scott  smiled  sympathetically  on  Le- 
fever,  "is  half-way  to  Morgan's  Gap." 

"After  him !"  cried  Lefever  hotly.  De  Spain 
looked  inquiringly  at  the  guard.  Scott  shook  his 
head.  "That  would  be  all  right,  but  there's  two 
other  Calabasas  men  in  the  Gap  this  afternoon  it 
wouldn't  be  nice  to  mix  with — Deaf  Sandusky 
and  Harvey  Logan." 

"We  won't  mix  with  them,"  suggested  de  Spain. 

"If  we  tackle  Sassoon,  they'll  mix  with  us," 
explained  Scott.  He  reflected  a  moment.  "They 
always  stay  at  Gale  Morgan's  or  Duke's.  We 
might  sneak  Sassoon  out  without  their  getting  on. 

59 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Sassoon  knows  he  is  safe  in  the  Gap;  but  he'll 
hide  even  after  he  gets  there.  He  takes  two  pre 
cautions  for  every  other  man's  one.  Sassoon  is 
a  wonder  at  hiding  out.  I've  got  the  Thief 
River  run  this  afternoon " 

De  Spain  looked  at  him.     "Well  ?" 

Scott's  face  softened  into  the  characteristic 
smile — akin  to  a  quiet  grin — that  it  often  wore. 
"If  I  didn't  have  to  go  through  to-day,  and  the 
three  of  us  could  get  to  the  Gap  before  daylight 
to-morrow  morning,  I  would  give  Sassoon  a  run 
for  his  money  in  spite  of  the  other  fellows." 

"Don't  take  your  run  this  afternoon,"  directed 
de  Spain.  "Telephone  Sleepy  Cat  for  a  substi 
tute.  Suppose  we  go  back,  get  something  to  eat, 
and  you  two  ride  singly  over  toward  the  Gap 
this  afternoon;  lie  outside  under  cover  to  see 
whether  Sassoon  or  his  friends  leave  before  night 
— there's  only  one  way  out  of  the  place,  they 
tell  me.  Then  I  will  join  you,  and  we'll  ride  in 
before  daylight,  and  perhaps  catch  him  while 
everybody  is  asleep." 

"If  you  do,"  predicted  Scott,  in  his  deliberate 
way  of  expressing  a  conclusion,  "I  think  you'll 
get  him." 

It  was  so  arranged. 


60 


CHAPTER  V 

ROUNDING    UP    SASSOON 

1P\E  SPAIN  joined  his  associates  at  dark  out- 
^^^  side  the  Gap.  Neither  Sassoon  nor  his 
friends  had  been  seen.  The  night  was  still,  the 
sky  cloudless,  and  as  the  three  men  with  a  led 
horse  rode  at  midnight  into  the  mountains,  the 
great  red  heart  of  the  Scorpion  shone  afire  in  the 
southern  sky.  Spreading  out  when  they  rode 
between  the  mountain  walls,  they  made  their 
way  without  interruption  silently  toward  their 
rendezvous,  an  aspen  grove  near  which  Purga- 
toire  Creek  makes  its  way  out  of  the  Gap  and, 
cutting  a  deep  gash  along  the  edge  of  the  range 
for  a  hundred  miles,  empties  into  the  Thief. 

Scott  was  the  first  to  reach  the  trees.  The 
little  grove  spreads  across  a  slope  half  a  mile 
wide  between  the  base  of  one  towering  cliff,  still 
bearing  its  Spanish  name,  El  Capitan,  and  the 
gorge  of  the  Purgatoire.  To  the  east  of  this 
point  the  trails  to  Calabasas  and  to  Sleepy  Cat 
divide,  and  here  Scott  and  Lefever  received  de 
Spain,  who  had  ridden  slowly  and  followed  Scott's 

61 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

injunctions  to  keep  the  red  star  to  the  right  of 
El  Capitan  all  the  way  across  the  Sinks. 

Securing  their  horses,  the  three  stretched  out 
on  the  open  ground  to  wait  for  daylight.  De 
Spain  was  wakeful,  and  his  eyes  rested  with  curi 
osity  on  the  huge  bulk  of  Music  Mountain,  rising 
overwhelmingly  above  him.  Through  the  Gap 
that  divided  the  great,  sentinel-like  front  of  El 
Capitan,  marking  the  northern  face  of  the  moun 
tain  rift,  from  Round  Top,  the  south  wall  of  the 
opening,  stars  shone  vividly,  as  if  lighting  the  way 
into  the  silent  range  beyond. 

The  breathing  of  his  companions  soon  assured 
de  Spain  that  both  were  asleep.  The  horses  were 
quiet,  and  the  night  gave  no  sound  save  that 
vaguely  through  the  darkness  came  the  faint  brawl 
of  tiny  cataracts  tumbling  down  far  mountain 
heights.  De  Spain,  lying  on  his  side,  his  head 
resting  on  his  elbow,  and  his  hands  clasped  at 
the  back  of  his  neck,  meditated  first  on  how  he 
should  capture  Sassoon  at  daybreak,  and  then  on  l 
Nan  Morgan  and  her  mountain  home,  into  which 
he  was  about  to  break  to  drag  out  a  criminal. 
Sassoon  and  his  malice  soon  drifted  out  of  his 
mind,  but  Nan  remained.  She  stayed  with  him, 
it  seemed,  for  hours — appearing  and  disappearing, 
in  one  aspect  more  alluring  than  another.  Then 
her  form  outlined  in  the  mists  that  rose  from  the 

62 


Rounding  Up  Sassoon 

hidden  creek  seemed  to  hover  somewhere  near 
until  Scott's  hand  laid  on  the  dreamer's  shoulder 
drove  it  suddenly  away.  Day  was  at  hand. 

De  Spain  got  up  and  shook  off  the  chilliness 
and  drowsiness  of  the  night.  It  had  been  agreed 
that  he,  being  less  known  in  the  Gap  than  either 
of  his  companions,  could  best  attempt  the  diffi 
cult  capture.  It  was  strictly  a  coup  de  main, 
depending  for  its  success  on  chance  and  nerve. 
The  one  that  tried  it  might  manage  to  bring  out 
his  man — or  might  be  brought  out  himself.  Be 
tween  these  alternatives  there  was  not  much  mid 
dle  ground,  except  that  failing  to  find  Sassoon, 
or  in  case  he  should  be  intercepted  with  his  pris 
oner,  the  intruder,  escaping  single-handed  from 
a  shower  of  bullets,  might  still  get  away.  But 
Morgan's  Gap  men  were  esteemed  fairly  good 
marksmen. 

Bob  Scott,  who  knew  the  recess  well,  repeated 
his  explicit  directions  as  to  how  de  Spain  was  to 
reach  Sassoon's  shack.  He  repeated  his  descrip 
tion  of  its  interior,  told  him  where  the  bed  stood, 
and  even  where  Sassoon  ordinarily  kept  his  knife 
and  his  revolver.  The  western  sky  was  still  dark 
when  de  Spain,  mounting,  discussed  the  last  ar 
rangements  with  his  scouts  and,  taking  the  bridle 
of  the  led  horse,  turned  toward  Round  Top.  At 
its  narrowest  point  the  Gap  opening  is  barely  two 

63 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

miles  wide,  and  the  one  road,  in  and  out,  lies 
among  the  rocks  through  this  neck;  toward  it 
all  trails  inside  the  Gap  converge.  De  Spain 
gave  his  horse  his  head — it  was  still  too  dark  to 
distinguish  the  path — and  depended  on  his  tower 
ing  landmarks  for  his  general  direction.  He  ad 
vanced  at  a  snail's  pace  until  he  passed  the  base 
of  El  Capitan,  when  of  a  sudden,  as  he  rode  out 
from  among  high  projecting  rocks  full  into  the 
opening,  faint  rays  of  light  from  the  eastern  dawn 
revealed  the  narrow,  strangely  enclosed  and  per 
fectly  hidden  valley  before  him.  The  eastern  and 
southern  sides  still  lay  in  darkness,  but  the  stu 
pendous  cliffs  frowning  on  the  north  and  west 
were  lighted  somewhat  from  the  east.  The 
southern  wall,  though  shrouded,  seemed  to  rise 
in  an  unending  series  of  beetling  aretes. 

De  Spain  caught  his  breath.  No  description 
he  had  ever  heard  of  the  nook  that  screened  the 
Morgans  from  the  outside  world  had  prepared 
him  for  what  he  saw.  From  side  to  side  of  the 
gigantic  mountain  fissure,  it  could  hardly  be,  de 
Spain  thought,  more  than  a  few  thousand  yards 
— so  completely  was  his  sense  of  proportion 
stunned  by  the  frowning  cliffs  which  rose,  at 
points,  half  a  mile  into  the  sky.  But  it  was  actu 
ally  several  miles  from  wall  to  wall,  and  the  Gap 
was  more  than  as  much  in  depth,  as  it  ran  back 

64 


Rounding  Up  Sassoon 

to  a  mere  wedge  between  unnamed  Superstition 
peaks. 

Every  moment  that  he  pushed  ahead  warned 
him  that  daylight  would  come  suddenly  and  his 
time  to  act  would  be  short.  The  trail  he  followed 
broadened  into  a  road,  and  he  strained  his  eyes  for 
signs,  first  of  life,  and  then  of  habitation.  The 
little  creek,  now  beside  his  way,  flowed  quietly 
albeit  swiftly  along,  and  his  utmost  vigilance 
could  detect  no  living  thing  stirring;  but  a  turn 
in  the  trail,  marked  by  a  large  pine-tree  and  con 
forming  to  a  bend  of  the  stream,  brought  him 
up  startled  and  almost  face  to  face  with  a  long, 
rambling  ranch-house.  The  gable  end  of  the  two- 
story  portion  of  the  building  was  so  close  to  him 
that  he  instantly  reined  up  to  seek  hiding  from 
its  upper  and  lower  windows. 

From  Scott's  accurate  description  he  knew  the 
place.  This  was  Duke  Morgan's  ranch-house, 
set  as  a  fortress  almost  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gap. 
To  pass  it  unobserved  was  to  compass  the  most 
ticklish  part  of  his  mission,  and  without  changing 
his  slow  pace  he  rode  on,  wondering  whether  a 
bullet,  if  fired  from  any  of  the  low,  open  windows 
— which  he  could  almost  throw  his  hat  into  as 
he  trotted  past — would  knock  him  off  his  horse 
or  leave  him  a  chance  to  spur  away.  But  no  bul 
let  challenged  him  and  no  sound  came  from  the 

65 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

silent  house.  He  cantered  away  from  the  peril, 
thinking  with  a  kind  of  awe  of  Nan,  asleep,  so 
close,  under  that  roof — confident,  too,  he  had  not 
been  seen — though,  in  matter  of  fact,  he  had  been. 

He  quickened  his  pace.  The  place  he  wanted 
to  reach  was  more  than  a  mile  distant.  Other 
cabins  back  toward  the  north  wall  could  be  seen 
dimly  to  his  right,  but  all  were  well  removed  from 
his  way.  He  found,  in  due  time,  the  ford  in  the 
creek,  as  Scott  had  advised,  made  it  without  mis 
hap,  scrambled  up  a  steep  and  rocky  path,  and 
saw  confronting  him,  not  far  ahead,  a  small, 
ruinous-looking  cabin  shack.  Dismounting  be 
fore  this,  he  threw  his  lines,  shook  himself  a 
little,  and  walked  up  to  the  cabin  door.  It  was 
open. 

The  mild-minded  conspirators  who  had  planned 
the  details  of  the  abduction  were  agreed  that  if 
the  effort  could  be  made  a  success  at  all,  there 
was  but  one  way  to  effect  it,  and  that  was  to  act, 
in  every  step,  openly.  Any  attempt  to  steal  on 
Sassoon  unawares  would  be  a  desperate  one; 
while  to  walk  boldly  into  his  cabin  at  daybreak 
would  be  to  do  only  what  his  companions  were 
likely  at  any  time  to  do,  and  was  the  course  least 
calculated  to  lead  to  serious  trouble.  None  of  the 
three  were  unaware  of  the  psychological  action 
of  that  peculiar  instinct  of  danger  possessed  by 

66 


Rounding  Up  Sassoon 

men  habitually  exposed  to  surprise — they  knew 
how  easily  it  may  be  aroused  in  a  sleeper  by  the 
unusual  happening  about  him,  and  how  cunningly 
it  is  allayed  by  counterfeiting  within  his  hearing 
the  usual  course  of  normal  events. 

De  Spain,  following  the  chosen  policy,  called 
gruffly  to  the  cabin  inmate.  There  was  no  an 
swer.  All  had  sounded  extremely  plausible  to 
de  Spain  at  the  time  he  listened  to  Bob  Scott's 
ingenious  anticipation  of  the  probabilities,  and 
he  had  felt  while  listening  to  the  subtle  Indian 
that  the  job  was  not  a  complicated  one. 

But  now,  as  he  hitched  his  trouser  band  near 
to  the  butt  of  his  revolver  with  his  right  hand, 
and  laid  his  left  on  the  jamb  of  the  door  with  an 
effort  to  feel  at  home,  stepped  unevenly  across 
the  threshold,  and  tried  to  peer  into  the  interior 
darkness,  Scott's  strategy  did  not,  for  some  rea 
son,  commend  itself  quite  so  convincingly  to  him. 
There  seemed,  suddenly,  a  great  many  chances 
for  a  slip  in  the  programme.  De  Spain  coughed 
slightly,  his  eyes  meantime  boring  the  darkness 
to  the  left,  where  Sassoon's  bed  should  be.  The 
utmost  scrutiny  failed  to  disclose  any  sign  of  it 
or  any  sound  of  breathing  from  that  corner.  He 
took  a  few  steps  toward  where  the  man  should  be 
asleep,  and  perceived  beyond  a  doubt  that  there 
was  no  bed  in  the  corner  at  all.  He  turned  toward 

67 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

the  other  corner,  his  hand  covering  the  butt  of 
his  gun.  "  Hello,  Shike!"  he  called  out  in  a 
slightly  strained  tone  of  camaraderie,  addressing 
Sassoon  by  a  common  nickname.  Then  he  lis 
tened.  A  trumpeting  snore  answered.  No  sound 
was  ever  sweeter  to  de  Spain's  ear.  The  rude 
noise  cleared  the  air  and  steadied  the  intruder  as 
if  Music  Mountain  itself  had  been  lifted  off  his 
nerves. 

He  tried  again:  "Where  are  you,  Shike?"  he 
growled.  "What's  this  stuff  on  the  floor?"  he 
continued,  shuffling  his  way  ostentatiously  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  But  his  noise-making  was 
attended  with  the  utmost  caution.  He  had 
dropped,  like  a  shot,  flat  on  the  floor  and  crawled, 
feeling  his  way,  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
only  to  find,  after  much  trouble,  that  the  bed  in 
the  darkness  was  there,  but  it  was  empty.  De 
Spain  rose.  For  a  moment  he  was  nonplussed. 
An  inside  room  remained,  but  Scott  had  said  there 
was  no  bed  within  it.  He  felt  his  way  toward 
the  inner  door.  This  was  where  he  expected  to 
find  it,  and  it  was  closed.  He  laid  a  hand  gingerly 
on  the  latch.  "Where  are  you,  Shike?"  he  de 
manded  again,  this  time  with  an  impatient  ex 
pletive  summoned  for  the  occasion.  A  second 
fearful  snore  answered  him.  De  Spain,  relieved, 
almost  laughed  as  he  pushed  the  door  open, 

68 


Rounding  Up  Sassoon 

though  not  sure  whether  a  curse  or  a  shot  would 
greet  him.  He  got  neither.  And  a  welcome  sur 
prise  in  the  dim  light  came  through  a  stuffy  pane 
of  glass  at  one  end  of  the  room.  It  revealed  at 
the  other  end  a  man  stretched  asleep  on  a  wall 
bunk — a  man  that  would,  in  all  likelihood,  have 
heard  the  stealthiest  sound  had  any  effort  been 
made  to  conceal  it,  but  to  whose  ears  the  rough 
voices  of  a  mountain  cabin  are  mere  sleeping- 
potions. 

The  sleeper  was  destined,  a  moment  later,  to 
a  ruder  awakening  than  even  his  companion  out 
laws  ever  gave  him.  Lying  unsuspectingly  on 
his  back,  he  woke  to  feel  a  hand  laid  lightly  on  his 
shoulder.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation  acted 
like  a  flash.  His  eyes  opened  and  his  hands 
struck  out  like  cat's  paws  to  the  right  and  left: 
no  knife  and  no  revolver  met  them.  Instead,  in 
the  semidarkness  a  strange  face  bent  over  him. 
His  fists  shot  out  together,  only  to  be  caught  in 
a  vise  that  broke  his  arms  in  two  at  the  elbows, 
and  forced  them  back  against  his  throat.  Like 
lightning,  he  threw  up  his  knees,  drew  himself 
into  a  heap,  and  shot  himself  out,  hands,  arms, 
legs,  back,  everything  into  one  terrific  spring. 
But  the  sinewy  vise  above  only  gave  for  the  shock, 
then  it  closed  again  relentlessly  in.  A  knee,  like 
an  anvil,  pushed  inexorably  into  his  stomach  and 

69 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

heart  and  lungs.  Another  lay  across  his  right 
arm,  and  his  struggling  left  arm  he  could  not, 
though  his  eyes  burst  with  the  strain  from  their 
sockets,  release  from  where,  eagle-like  claws 
gripped  at  his  throat  and  shut  off  his  breath. 

Again  and  again,  with  the  fury  of  desperation, 
Sassoon  drew  in  his  powerful  frame,  shot  it  out, 
twisted  and  struggled.  Great  veins  swelled  on 
his  forehead,  his  breath  burst  in  explosive  gasps, 
he  writhed  from  side  to  side — it  was  all  one. 
After  every  effort  the  cruel  fingers  at  his  throat 
tightened.  The  heavy  knee  on  his  chest  crushed 
more  relentlessly.  He  lay  still. 

"Are  you  awake,  Shike?"  Sassoon  heard  from 
the  gloom  above  him.  But  he  could  not  place 
the  voice.  "You  seem  to  move  around  a  good 
deal  in  your  sleep.  If  you're  awake,  keep  still. 
I've  come  from  Sleepy  Cat  to  get  you.  Don't 
mind  looking  for  your  gun  and  knife.  Two  men 
are  with  me.  You  can  have  your  choice.  We've 
got  a  horse  for  you.  You  can  ride  away  from  us 
here  inside  the  Gap,  and  take  what  hits  you  in 
the  back,  or  you  can  go  to  Sleepy  Cat  with  us 
and  stand  your  trial.  I'll  read  your  warrant 
when  the  sun  gets  a  little  higher.  Get  up  and 
choose  quick." 

Sassoon  could  not  see  who  had  subdued  him, 
nor  did  he  take  long  to  decide  what  to  do.  Scott 

70 


Rounding  Up  Sassoon 

had  predicted  he  would  go  without  much  fuss,  and 
de  Spain,  now  somewhat  surprised,  found  Bob 
right  in  his  forecast.  With  less  trouble  than  he 
expected,  the  captor  got  his  man  sullenly  on  horse 
back,  and  gave  him  severely  plain  directions  as 
to  what  not  to  do.  Sassoon,  neither  bound  nor 
gagged,  was  told  to  ride  his  horse  down  the  Gap 
closely  ahead  of  de  Spain  and  neither  to  speak 
nor  turn  his  head  no  matter  what  happened 
right  or  left.  To  get  him  out  in  this  manner  was, 
de  Spain  realized,  the  really  ticklish  part  of  the 
undertaking. 

Fortune,  however,  seemed  to  favor  his  assur 
ance  in  invading  the  lions'  den.  In  the  growing 
light  the  two  men  trotted  smartly  a  mile  down  the 
trail  without  encountering  a  sign  of  life.  When 
they  approached  the  Morgan  ranch-house  de 
Spain  again  felt  qualms.  But  he  rode  close  to 
his  prisoner,  told  him  in  restrained  monologue 
what  would  happen  if  he  made  a  noise,  and  even 
held  him  back  in  his  pace  as  they  trotted  to 
gether  past  the  Gap  stronghold.  Nevertheless,  he 
breathed  more  freely  when  they  left  the  house  be 
hind  and  the  turn  in  the  road  put  them  out  of 
range  of  its  windows.  He  closed  up  the  distance 
between  himself  and  Sassoon,  riding  close  in  to 
his  side,  and  looked  back  at  the  house.  He 
looked  quickly,  but  though  his  eyes  were  off  his 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

path  and  his  prisoner  for  only  a  fraction  of  a 
second,  when  he  looked  ahead  again  he  saw  con 
fronting  him,  not  a  hundred  yards  away,  a  mo 
tionless  horseman. 


72 


CHAPTER  VI 

HEELS     FOR    IT 

'!T7rITH  a  sudden,  low  command  to  Sassoon  to 
check  his  horse,  and  without  a  movement 
that  could  be  detected  in  the  dawn  ten  yards 
away,  de  Spain  with  the  thumb  and  finger  of 
his  right  hand  lifted  his  revolver  from  its  scab 
bard,  shifted  his  lines  from  his  left  hand  to  his 
right,  rode  closer  to  Sassoon  and  pressed  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun  to  his  prisoner's  side.  "  You've 
got  one  chance  yet,  Shike,  to  ride  out  of  here 
alive,"  he  said  composedly.  "You  know  I  am  a 
rustler — cousin  of  John  Rebstock's.  My  name  is 
'Frenchy';  I  belong  in  Williams  Cache.  I  rode 
in  last  night  from  Thief  River,  and  you  are  rid 
ing  out  with  me  to  start  me  on  to  the  Sleepy  Cat 

trail.     If  you  can  remember  that  much 

While  he  spoke  to  Sassoon  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  rider  halted  in  their  path.  De  Spain 
stopped  half-way  through  his  sentence.  The  fig 
ure  revealed  in  the  half-light  puzzled  him  at  first. 
Then  it  confused  and  startled  him.  He  saw  it 
was  not  a  man  at  all,  but  a  woman — and  a  woman 

73 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

than  whom  he  would  rather  have  seen  six  men. 
It  was  Nan  Morgan. 

With  her  head  never  more  decisively  set  under 
her  mannish  hat,  her  waist  never  more  attractively 
outlined  in  slenderness,  she  silently  faced  de 
Spain  in  the  morning  gray.  His  face  reflected  his 
chagrined  perplexity.  The  whole  fabric  of  his 
slender  plot  seemed  to  go  to  pieces  at  the  sight 
of  her.  At  the  mere  appearance  of  his  frail  and 
motionless  foe  a  feeling  of  awkward  helplessness 
dissolved  his  easy  confidence.  He  now  reversed 
every  move  he  had  so  carefully  made  with  his 
hands  and,  resentfully  eying  Nan,  rode  in  some 
what  behind  Sassoon,  doing  nothing  further  than 
to  pull  his  kerchief  up  about  his  neck,  and  wonder 
ing  what  would  be  likely  to  happen  before  the 
next  three  minutes  were  up.  Beyond  that  flash 
the  future  held  no  interest  for  him — his  wits  had 
temporarily  failed. 

Of  one  thing  he  felt  assured,  that  it  was  in  no 
wise  up  to  him  to  speak  or  do  first.  He  could  al 
ready  see  Nan's  eyes.  They  were  bent  keenly  first 
on  him,  then  on  his  companion,  and  again  on  him. 
De  Spain  kept  his  face  down  as  much  as  he  dared, 
and  his  hat  had  been  pulled  well  over  it  from  the 
beginning.  She  waited  so  long  before  accosting 
the  two  men  that  de  Spain,  who  was  ready  to 
hope  any  improbable  thing,  began  to  hope  she 

74 


Heels  for  It 

might  let  them  pass  unchallenged.  He  had  re 
solved,  if  she  did  not  speak  to  push  past  without 
even  looking  at  her.  They  were  now  almost 
abreast.  His  fine  resolution  went  smash  over 
board.  The  very  instinctive  knowledge  that  her 
eyes  were  bent  on  his  made  him  steal  a  glance  at 
her  in  spite  of  himself.  The  next  instant  he  was 
shamefacedly  touching  his  hat.  Though  nothing 
was  lost  on  her,  Nan  professed  not  to  see  the  greet 
ing.  He  even  continued  to  dream  she  did  not 
recognize  him.  Her  eyes,  in  fact,  were  directed 
toward  Sassoon,  and  when  she  spoke  her  tone  was 
dry  with  suspicion. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Sassoon.  Where  are  you 
going?"  she  demanded.  Sassoon  hitched  with 
one  hand  at  his  trousers  band.  He  inclined  his 
head  sulkily  toward  his  companion.  "Starting 
a  man  on  the  trail  for  Sleepy  Cat." 

"Stop,"  she  exclaimed  sharply,  for  de  Spain, 
pushing  his  own  horse  ahead,  had  managed  with 
out  being  observed,  to  kick  Sassoon's  horse  in  the 
flank,  and  the  two  were  passing.  Sassoon  at  the 
resolute  summons  stopped.  De  Spain  could  do 
no  less;  both  men,  halting,  faced  their  suspicious 
inquisitor.  She  scrutinized  de  Spain  keenly. 
"What  is  this  man  doing  in  the  Gap  ?" 

"He  come  up  from  Thief  River  last  night," 
answered  Sassoon  monotonously. 

75 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"What  is  he  doing  here  with  you?"  persisted 
Nan. 

"He's  a  cousin  of  John  Rebstock's  from  Wil 
liams  Cache,"  continued  Sassoon.  The  yarn 
would  have  sounded  decently  well  in  the  circum 
stances  for  which  it  was  intended,  but  in  the 
searching  gaze  of  the  eyes  now  confronting  and 
clearly  recognizing  him,  it  sounded  so  grotesque 
that  de  Spain  would  fully  as  lief  have  been  sitting 
between  his  horse's  legs  as.  astride  his  back. 

"That's  not  true,  Sassoon,"  said  his  relentless 
questioner.  Her  tone  and  the  expression  of  her 
face  boded  no  friendliness  for  either  of  the  two 
she  had  intercepted. 

De  Spain  had  recovered  his  wits.  "You're 
right,"  he  interposed  without  an  instant's  hesita 
tion.  "It  isn't  true.  But  that's  not  his  fault; 
he  is  under  arrest,  and  is  telling  you  what  I  told 
him  to  tell  you.  I  came  in  here  this  morning  to 
take  Sassoon  to  Sleepy  Cat.  He  is  a  prisoner, 
wanted  for  cutting  up  one  of  our  stage-guards." 

Nan,  coldly  sceptical,  eyed  de  Spain.  "And  do 
you  try  to  tell  me" — she  pointed  to  Sassoon's 
unbound  hands — "that  he  is  riding  out  of  here, 
a  free  man,  to  go  to  jail  ?" 

"I  do  tell  you  exactly  that.     He  is  my  pris 


oner " 


I  don't  believe  either  of  you,"  declared  Nan 


Heels  for  It 

scornfully.     "You  are  planning  something  under 
hand  together." 

De  Spain  laughed  coolly.     "We've  planned  that 
much  together,  but  not,  I  assure  you,  with  his 


consent." 


"I  don't  believe  your  stones  at  all,"  she  de 
clared  firmly. 

De  Spain  flushed.  The  irritation  and  the  seri 
ous  danger  bore  in  on  him.  "If  you  don't  be 
lieve  me  it's  not  my  fault,"  he  retorted.  "I've 
told  you  the  truth.  Ride  on,  Sassoon." 

He  spoke  angrily,  but  this  in  no  wise  daunted 
Nan.  She  wheeled  her  horse  directly  in  front  of 
them.  "Don't  you  stir,  Sassoon,"  she  com 
manded,  "until  I  call  Uncle  Duke." 

De  Spain  spurred  straight  at  her;  their  horses 
collided,  and  his  knee  touched  hers  in  the  saddle. 
"I'm  going  to  take  this  man  out  of  here,"  he  an 
nounced  in  a  tone  she  never  had  heard  before 
from  a  man.  "I've  no  time  to  talk.  Go  call 
your  uncle  if  you  like.  We  must  pass." 

"You  shan't  pass  a  step!" 

With  the  quick  words  of  defiance  the  two  glared 
at  each  other.  De  Spain  was  taken  aback.  He 
had  expected  no  more  than  a  war  of  words — a  few 
screams  at  the  most.  Nan's  face  turned  white, 
but  there  was  no  symptom  even  of  a  whimper. 
He  noticed  her  quick  breathing,  and  felt,  instinc- 

77 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

lively,  the  restrained  gesture  of  her  right  hand 
as  it  started  back  to  her  side.  The  move  steadied 
him.  "One  question,"  he  said  bluntly,  "are  you 
armed?" 

She  hated  even  to  answer,  and  met  his  search 
ing  gaze  resentfully,  but  something  in  his  tone 
and  manner  wrung  a  reply.  "I  can  defend  my 
self,"  she  exclaimed  angrily. 

De  Spain  raised  his  right  hand  from  his  thigh 
to  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  The  slight  gesture 
was  eloquent  of  his  surrender  of  the  issue  of  force. 
"I  can't  go  into  a  shooting-match  with  you  about 
this  cur.  If  you  call  your  uncle  there  will  be 
bloodshed — unless  you  drop  me  off  my  horse 
right  here  and  now  before  he  appears.  All  I  ask 
you  is  this:  Is  this  kind  of  a  cutthroat  worth 
that  ?  If  you  shoot  me,  my  whole  posse  from 
Sleepy  Cat  is  right  below  us  in  the  aspens.  Some 
of  your  own  people  will  be  killed  in  a  general 
fight.  If  you  want  to  shoot  me,  shoot — you  can 
have  the  match  all  to  yourself.  If  you  don't, 
let  us  go  by.  And  if  I've  told  you  one  word  that 
isn't  true,  call  me  back  to  this  spot  any  time  you 
like,  and  I'll  come  at  your  call,  and  answer  for 


it." 


His  words  and  his  manner  confounded  her  for 
a  moment.  She  could  not  at  once  make  an  an 
swer,  for  she  could  not  decide  what  to  say.  Then, 

78 


Heels  for  It 

of  a  sudden,  she  was  robbed  of  her  chance  to  an 
swer.  From  down  the  trail  came  a  yell  like  a  shot. 
The  clatter  of  hoofs  rang  out,  and  men  on  horses 
dashed  from  the  entrance  of  the  Gap  toward  them. 
De  Spain  could  not  make  them  out  distinctly, 
but  he  knew  Lefever's  yell,  and  pointed.  "There 
they  are,"  he  exclaimed  hurriedly.  "There  is  the 
whole  posse.  They  are  coming!"  A  shot,  fol 
lowed  closely  by  a  second,  rang  out  from  below. 
"Go,"  he  cried  to  Nan.  "There'll  be  shooting 
here  that  I  can't  stop!"  He  slapped  Sassoon's 
pony  viciously  with  his  hand,  yelled  loud  in  an 
swer  to  Lefever,  and  before  the  startled  girl  could 
collect  herself,  de  Spain,  crouching  in  his  saddle, 
as  a  fusillade  cracked  from  Lefever's  and  Scott's 
revolvers,  urged  Sassoon's  horse  around  Nan's, 
kicked  it  violently,  spurred  past  her  himself,  and 
was  away.  White  with  consternation  and  anger, 
she  steadied  herself  and  looked  after  the  fleeing 
pair.  Then  whirling  in  her  saddle,  she  ran  her 
pony  back  to  the  ranch-house  to  give  the  alarm. 
Yelling  like  half  a  dozen  men,  Lefever  and  Scott, 
as  de  Spain  and  his  prisoner  dashed  toward  them, 
separated,  let  the  pair  pass,  and  spurred  in  behind 
to  cover  the  flight  and  confront  any  pursuers. 
None  at  the  moment  threatened,  but  no  words 
were  exchanged  until  the  whole  party,  riding  fast, 
were  well  past  El  Capitan  and  out  of  the  Gap. 

79 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

For  some  unexpressed  reason — so  strong  is  the 
influence  of  tradition  and  reputation — no  one  of 
the  three  coveted  a  close  encounter  with  the  Mor 
gans  within  its  walls. 

"It's  the  long  heels  for  it  now,  boys,"  cried  de 
Spain.  His  companions  closed  up  again. 

"Save  your  horses,"  cautioned  Scott,  between 
strides.  "It's  a  good  ways  home." 

"Make  for  Calabasas,"  shouted  Lefever. 

"No,"  yelled  Scott.  "They  would  stand  us  a 
siege  at  Calabasas.  While  the  trail  is  open  make 
for  the  railroad." 

A  great  globe  of  dazzling  gold  burst  into  the 
east  above  the  distant  hills.  But  the  glory  of  the 
sunrise  called  forth  no  admiration  from  the  three 
men  hurrying  a  fourth  urgently  along  the  Sleepy 
Cat  trail.  Between  breaths  de  Spain  explained 
his  awkward  meeting  with  Nan,  and  of  the  strait 
he  was  in  when  Lefever's  strong  lungs  enabled 
him  to  get  away  unscratched.  But  for  a  gunman 
a  narrow  squeak  is  as  good  as  a  wide  one,  and 
no  one  found  fault  with  the  situation.  They  had 
the  advantage — the  only  question  was  whether 
they  could  hold  it.  And  while  they  continued  to 
cast  anxious  glances  behind,  Scott's  Indian  eyes 
first  perceived  signs  on  the  horizon  that  marked 
their  pursuit. 

"No  matter,"  declared  Lefever.  "This  is  a 
80 


Heels  for  It 

little  fast  for  a  fat  man,  anyway."  He  was  not 
averse,  either,  to  the  prospect  of  a  long-range 
exchange  with  the  fighting  mountaineers.  All 
drew  rein  a  little.  "Suppose  I  cover  the  rear  till 
we  see  what  this  is,"  suggested  Lefever,  limbering 
up  as  the  other  two  looked  back.  "Push  ahead 
with  Sassoon.  These  fellows  won't  follow  far." 

"Don't  be  sure  about  that,"  muttered  Scott. 
"Duke  and  Gale  have  got  the  best  horses  in  the 
mountains,  and  they'd  rather  fight  than  eat. 
There  they  come  now." 

Dashing  across  a  plain  they  themselves  had 
just  crossed,  they  could  see  three  horsemen  in 
hot  chase.  The  pursued  men  rode  carefully,  and, 
scanning  the  ground  everywhere  ahead  and  be 
hind,  de  Spain,  Scott,  and  Lefever  awaited  the 
moment  when  their  pursuers  should  show  their 
hand.  Scott  was  on  the  west  of  the  line,  and 
nearest  the  enemy. 

"Who  are  they,  Bob  ?"  yelled  Lefever. 

Scott  scrutinized  the  pursuers  carefully.  "One," 
he  called  back,  "that  big  fellow  on  the  right,  is 
Deaf  Sandusky,  sure.  Harvey  Logan,  likely,  the 
middle  man.  The  other  I  can't  make  out. 
Look!"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the  foot-hills 
on  their  distant  left.  Two  men,  riding  out  al 
most  abreast  of  them,  were  running  their  horses 
for  a  small  canyon  through  which  the  trail  led 

81 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

two  miles  ahead.  "Some  riding,"  cried  Scott, 
watching  the  newcomers.  "That  farther  man 
must  be  Gale  Morgan.  They  are  trying  for  the 
greasewood  canyon,  to  cut  us  off." 

"We  can't  stand  for  that,"  decided  de  Spain, 
surveying  the  ground  around  them.  "There's 
not  so  much  as  a  sage-brush  here  for  cover." 

Lefever  pointed  to  his  right;  at  some  distance  a 
dark,  weather-beaten  cone  rose  above  the  yellow 
desert.  "Let's  make  a  stand  in  the  lava  beds," 
he  cried. 

De  Spain  hesitated.  "It  takes  us  the  wrong 
way."  He  pointed  ahead.  "Give  them  a  run 
for  that  canyon,  boys." 

Urging  their  horses,  the  Sleepy  Cat  men  rode  at 
utmost  speed  to  beat  the  flanking  party  to  the 
trail  gateway.  For  a  few  minutes  it  looked  an 
even  break  between  pursuers  and  pursued.  The 
two  men  in  the  foot-hills  now  had  a  long  angle  to 
overcome,  but  they  were  doing  a  better  pace 
than  those  of  the  Gap  party  behind,  and  half-way 
to  the  canyon  it  looked  like  a  neck-and-neck  heat 
for  the  narrow  entrance.  Lefever  complained  of 
the  effort  of  keeping  up,  and  at  length  reined  in 
his  horse.  "Drop  me  here  on  the  alkali,  boys," 
he  cried  to  the  others.  "I'll  hold  this  end  while 
you  get  through  the  canyon." 

"No,"  declared  de  Spain,  checking  his  pace. 
82 


Heels  for  It 

"If  one  stays,  all  stay.  This  is  as  good  a  time  as 
any  to  find  out  what  these  fellows  mean." 

"But  not  a  very  good  place,"  commented 
Scott,  as  they  slowed,  looking  for  a  depression. 

"It's  as  good  for  us  as  it  is  for  them,"  returned 
de  Spain  abruptly.  "We'll  try  it  right  here." 

He  swung  out  of  his  saddle,  Lefever  and  Scott 
after  an  instant's  reconnoissance  following.  S as- 
soon  they  dismounted.  Scott  lashed  his  wrists 
together,  while  de  Spain  and  Lefever  unslung 
their  carbines,  got  their  horses  down,  and,  facing 
the  west  and  south,  spread  themselves  on  the 
ground. 

The  men  behind  lost  nothing  of  the  defensive 
movement  of  the  pursued  party,  and^  slowed  up 
in  turn.  For  the  moment  the  flankers  were  out 
of  sight,  but  they  must  soon  appear  on  the  crest 
of  a  rise  between  them  and  the  canyon.  Lefever 
was  first  down  and  first  ready  with  his  rifle  to 
cover  the  men  behind.  These  now  spread  out 
and  came  on,  as  if  for  a  rush. 

Lefever,  picking  Logan,  the  foremost,  sent  a 
warning  shot  in  front  of  him.  De  Spain  fired  al 
most  at  the  same  moment  toward  the  big  man 
making  a  detour  to  the  right  of  the  leader.  The 
two  bullets  puffed  in  the  distant  alkali,  and  the 
two  horsemen,  sharply  admonished,  swerved  back 
ward  precipitately.  After  a  momentary  circling 

83 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

indecision,  the  three  rode  closer  together  for  a 
conference,  dismounted,  and  opened  a  return  fire 
on  the  little  party  lying  to. 

The  strategy  of  their  halt  and  their  firing  was 
not  hard  to  penetrate.  The  men  from  the  foot 
hills  were  still  riding  for  the  canyon.  No  views 
were  exchanged  among  Sassoon's  captors,  but  all 
understood  that  this  move  must  be  stopped. 
Lefever  and  Scott,  without  words,  merely  left 
the  problem  to  de  Spain  as  the  leader.  He  lay 
on  the  right  of  the  line  as  they  faced  south,  and 
this  brought  him  nearest  to  the  riders  out  of  the 
foot-hills.  Taking  advantage  of  a  lull  in  the  firing, 
he  pulled  his  horse  around  between  himself  and 
the  attacking  party,  and  in  such  a  position  that 
he  could  command  with  his  rifle  the  fast-moving 
riders  to  the  west. 

Something  of  a  predicament  confronted  him. 
He  was  loath  to  take  a  human  life  in  the  effort 
to  get  a  cutthroat  jailed,  and  hated  even  to 
cripple  a  beast  for  it,  but  the  two  men  must  be 
stopped.  Nor  was  it  easy  to  pick  up  the  range 
offhand,  but  meaning  that  the  Morgans,  if  they 
were  Morgans,  should  understand  how  a  rush 
would  be  met,  he  sent  one  shot  after  another, 
short,  beyond,  and  ahead  of  the  horsemen,  to 
check  them,  and  to  feel  the  way  for  closer  shoot 
ing  if  it  should  be  necessary.  The  two  dashed  on 

84 


Heels  for  It 

undaunted.  De  Spain  perceived  that  warnings 
were  wasted.  He  lowered  his  sights,  and,  waiting 
his  chance  as  the  leader  of  the  foot-hill  pursuers 
rode  into  a  favorable  range,  he  fired  for  his  horse's 
head.  The  beast  jumped  convulsively  and  pitched 
forward,  head  down  in  a  half  somersault,  throw 
ing  his  rider  violently  to  the  ground.  Scott  and 
Lefever  yelled  loudly. 

Out  of  the  cloud  of  dust  the  man  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  looked  coolly  around,  and  brushed  the 
alkali  disgustedly  from  his  eyes  just  as  a  second 
bullet  from  de  Spain  tore  up  the  earth  a  few  feet 
to  one  side  of  him.  He  jumped  like  a  rabbit  at 
this  summons,  and  did  not  even  make  a  further 
pretense  at  composure.  Grabbing  his  hat  from 
the  ground,  he  ran  like  mad  toward  the  hills. 
Meantime  his  mounted  companion  had  turned 
about.  De  Spain  sprang  to  his  feet,  jerked  up  his 
horse  and  cried:  "Now  for  the  canyon  !"  Push 
ing  Sassoon  into  the  saddle  and  profiting  by  the 
confusion,  the  railroad  men  rode  hard  for  their 
refuge,  and  reached  it  without  more  molestation 
than  an  occasional  shot  from  their  distant  pur 
suers  on  the  main  trail.  De  Spain  and  his  scouts 
now  felt  assured  of  their  escape.  The  foot-hills 
contingent  was  left  far  behind,  and,  though  their 
remaining  pursuers  rode  in  at  times  with  a  show 
of  rushing,  the  chase  was  a  stern  one,  and 

8s 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

could  be  checked  whenever  necessary.  Halting 
at  times  in  this  way  to  breathe  their  horses,  or  to 
hold  off  the  rear  pursuit,  de  Spain  with  his  two 
companions  and  their  prisoner  rode  into  Sleepy 
Cat,  locked  Sassoon  up,  and  went  to  the  Moun 
tain  House  for  breakfast. 


86 


CHAPTER  VII 

MAINTAINING    A    REPUTATION 

THE  abduction  of  Sassoon,  which  signalized 
de  Spain's  entry  into  the  stage-line  manage 
ment,  created  a  sensation  akin  to  the  exploding 
of  a  bomb  under  the  range.  The  whole  moun 
tain  country,  which  concentrates,  sensibly,  on 
but  one  topic  at  a  time,  talked  for  a  week  of 
nothing  else.  No  such  defiance  of  the  traditions 
of  the  Morgan  rule  along  the  reaches  of  the  Span 
ish  Sinks  had  been  attempted  in  years — and  it 
was  recalled  more  than  once,  when  de  Spain's  feat 
was  discussed  at  the  ranches,  on  the  trails,  and  in 
the  haunts  of  gunmen  in  Calabasas,  that  no  one 
of  those  who  had  ever  braved  the  wrath  of  the 
Sink  rulers  had  lived  indefinitely  to  boast  of  it. 

Experienced  men,  therefore,  in  the  high  coun 
try — men  of  that  class  who,  wherever  found,  are 
old  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  not  promptly 
moved  by  new  or  youthful  adventure — dismissed 
the  incident  after  hearing  the  details,  with  the 
comment  or  the  conclusion  that  there  would 
hardly  be  for  de  Spain  more  than  one  additional 
chapter  to  the  story,  and  that  this  would  be  a 

87 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

short  one.  The  most  active  Morgans — Gale, 
Duke,  and  the  easy-going  Satterlee — were  indeed 
wrought  to  the  keenest  pitch  of  revengeful  anger. 
No  question  of  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  arrest 
was  discussed — justification  was  not  considered. 
It  was  an  overwhelmingly  insolent  invasion — and 
worst  of  all,  a  successful  invasion,  by  one  who 
had  nothing  but  cool  impudence,  not  even  a  bud 
ding  reputation  to  justify  his  assault  on  the  life 
long  prestige  of  the  Gap  clan.  Gale  Morgan 
strode  and  rode  the  streets  of  Sleepy  Cat  looking 
for  de  Spain,  and  storming. 

De  Spain  himself,  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
storm  he  had  kicked  up,  heeded  the  counsel  of 
Scott,  and  while  the  acute  stage  of  the  resent 
ment  raged  along  the  trail  he  ran  down  for  a 
few  days  to  Medicine  Bend  to  buy  horses.  Both 
Gale  and  Duke  Morgan  proclaimed,  in  certain 
public  places  in  Sleepy  Cat,  their  intention  of 
shooting  de  Spain  on  sight;  and  as  a  climax  to 
all  the  excitement  of  the  week  following  his  cap 
ture,  the  slippery  Sassoon  broke  jail  and,  after  a 
brief  interval,  appeared  at  large  in  Calabasas. 

This  feat  of  the  Morgan  satellite  made  a  loud 
laugh  at  de  Spain's  expense.  It  mitigated  some 
what  the  humiliation  of  Sassoon's  friends,  but 
it  in  no  wise  diminished  their  expressed  resolve 
to  punish  de  Spain's  invasion.  Lefever,  who  as 

88 


Maintaining  a  Reputation 

the  mixer  among  the  stage  men,  kept  close  to 
the  drift  of  public  sentiment,  decided  after  de 
Spain's  return  to  Sleepy  Cat  that  the  stage-line 
authorities  had  gained  nothing  by  Sassoon's 
capture. 

"We  ought  to  have  thought  of  it  before, 
Henry,"  he  said  frankly  one  night  in  Jeffries's 
office,  "but  we  didn't  think." 

"Meaning  just  what,  John?"  demanded  de 
Spain  without  real  interest. 

"Meaning,  that  in  this  country  you  can't  be 
gin  on  a  play  like  pulling  Sassoon  out  from  under 
his  friends'  noses  without  keeping  up  the  pace — 
without  a  second  and  third  act.  You  dragged 
Sassoon  by  his  hair  out  of  the  Gap;  good.  You 
surprised  everybody;  good.  But  you  can't  very 
well  stop  at  that,  Henry.  You  have  raised  hopes, 
you  have  led  people  to  invest  you  with  the  faint 
glimmerings  of  a  reputation.  I  say,  the  glimmer 
ings,  because  such  a  feat  by  itself  doesn't  insure 
a  permanent  reputation,  Henry.  It  is,  so  to  say, 
merely  a  'demand'  reputation — one  that  men  re 
serve  the  right  to  recall  at  any  moment.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is,  if  they  ever  do  recall  it,  you  are  worse 
off  than  when  before  they  extended  the  brittle 
bauble  to  you." 

"Jingo,  John !  For  a  stage  blacksmith  you  are 
some  spieler."  De  Spain  added  an  impatient, 

89 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

not  to  say  contumelious  exclamation  concerning 
the  substance  of  Lefever's  talk.  "I  didn't  ask 
them  for  a  reputation.  This  man  interfered  with 
my  guard — in  fact,  tried  to  cut  his  throat,  didn't 
he?" 

"Would  have  done  it  if  Frank  had  been  an 
honest  man." 

"That  is  all  there  is  to  it,  isn't  it  ?  If  Sassoon 
or  anybody  else  gets  in  the  way  of  the  stages, 
I'll  go  after  them  again — that's  all  there  is  to  it, 
isn't  it?" 

Lefever  tapped  the  second  finger  of  one  fat 
hand  gently  on  the  table.  "Practically;  practi 
cally  all,  Henry,  yes.  You  don't  quite  under 
stand,  but  you  have  the  right  idea.  What  I  am 
trying  to  hammer  into  your  dense  cocoanut  is, 
that  when  a  man  has,  gets,  or  is  given  a  reputa 
tion  out  in  this  country,  he  has  got  to  live  up 


to  it." 


"What  do  you  want  me  to  do — back  a  horse 
and  shoot  two  guns  at  once  up  and  down  Main 
Street,  cowboy  style?" 

Lefever  kept  his  patience  without  difficulty, 
"No,  no.  You'll  understand." 

"Scott  advised  me  to  run  down  to  Medicine 
Bend  for  a  few  days  to  let  the  Morgans  cool  off." 

"Right.  That  was  the  first  step.  The  few 
days  are  a  thing  of  the  past.  I  suppose  you  know," 

90 


Maintaining  a  Reputation 

continued  Lefever,  in  as  well-modulated  a  tone 
as  he  could  assume  to  convey  information  that 
could  not  be  regarded  as  wholly  cheerful,  "that 
they  expect  to  get  you  for  this  Sassoon  job/' 

De  Spain  flushed.  But  the  red  anger  lasted 
only  a  moment.  "Who  are  'they'?"  he  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"Deaf  Sandusky,  Logan,  of  course,  the  Cala- 
basas  bunch,  and  the  Morgans." 

De  Spain  regarded  his  companion  unamiably. 
"What  do  they  expect  I'll  be  doing  while  they  are 
getting  me  ?" 

Lefever  raised  a  hand  deprecatingly.  "Don't 
be  overconfident,  Henry;  that's  your  danger.  I 
know  you  can  take  care  of  yourself.  All  I 
want  to  do  is  to  get  the  folks  here  acquainted 
with  your  ability,  without  taking  unnecessary 
chances.  You  see,  people  are  not  now  asking 
questions  of  one  another;  they  are  asking  them  of 
themselves.  Who  and  what  is  this  newcomer— 
an  accident  or  a  genuine  arrival  ?  A  common 
squib  or  a  real  explosion?  Don't  get  excited," 
he  added,  in  an  effort  to  sooth  de  Spain's  obvious 
irritation.  "You  have  the  idea,  Henry.  It's 
time  to  show  yourself." 

"I  can't  very  well  do  business  here  without 
showing  myself,"  retorted  de  Spain. 

"But  it  is  a  thing  to  be  managed,"  persisted 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Lefever.  "Now,  suppose — since  the  topic  is  up 
— we  'show'  in  Main  Street  for  a  while." 

"Suppose  we  do,"  echoed  de  Spain  ungra 
ciously. 

"That  will  crack  the  debut  ice.  We  will  call 
at  Harry  Tenison's  hotel,  and  then  go  to  his  new 
rooms — go  right  to  society  headquarters  first — 
that's  my  theory  of  doing  it.  If  anybody  has 
any  shooting  in  mind,  Tenison's  is  a  quiet  and 
orderly  place.  And  if  a  man  declines  to  eat 
anybody  up  at  Tenison's,  we  put  him  down, 
Henry,  as  not  ravenously  hungry." 

"One  man  I  would  like  to  see  is  that  sheriff*, 
Druel,  who  let  Sassoon  get  out." 

"Ready  to  interview  him  now?" 

"I've  got  some  telegrams  to  answer." 

"Those  will  keep.  The  Morgans  are  in  town. 
We'll  start  out  and  find  somebody." 

It  was  wet  and  sloppy  outside,  but  Lefever  was 
indifferent  to  the  rain,  and  de  Spain  thought  it 
would  be  undignified  to  complain  of  it. 

When,  followed  by  Lefever,  he  walked  into  the 
lobby  of  Tenison's  hotel  a  few  moments  later  the 
office  was  empty.  Nevertheless,  the  news  of  the 
appearance  of  Sassoon's  captor  spread.  The  two 
sauntered  into  the  billiard-hall,  which  occupied 
a  deep  room  adjoining  the  office  and  opened  with 
large  plate-glass  windows  on  Main  Street.  Every 

92 


Maintaining  a  Reputation 

table  was  in  use.  A  fringe  of  spectators  in  the 
chairs,  ostensibly  watching  the  pool  games, 
turned  their  eyes  toward  de  Spain — those  that 
recognized  him  distinguishing  him  by  nods  and 
whispers  to  others. 

Among  several  groups  of  men  standing  before 
the  long  bar,  one  party  of  four  near  the  front 
end  likewise  engaged  the  interest  of  those  keener 
loafers  who  were  capable  of  foreseeing  situa 
tions.  These  men,  Satterlee  Morgan,  the  cattle 
man;  Bull  Page,  one  of  his  cowboys;  Sheriff 
Druel,  and  Judge  Druel,  his  brother,  had  been 
drinking  together.  They  did  not  see  Lefever  and 
his  companion  as  the  two  came  in  through  the 
rear  lobby  door.  But  Lefever,  on  catching  sight 
of  them,  welcomed  his  opportunity.  Walking  di 
rectly  forward,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Satt  Morgan's 
shoulder.  As  the  cattleman  turned,  Lefever, 
genially  grasping  his  hand,  introduced  de  Spain 
to  each  of  the  party  in  turn.  What  followed  in 
the  brief  interval  between  the  meeting  of  the  six 
men  and  the  sudden  breaking  up  of  the  group 
a  few  moments  later  was  never  clearly  known, 
but  a  fairly  conclusive  theory  of  it  was  afterward 
accepted  by  Sleepy  Cat. 

Morgan  threw  the  brim  of  his  weather-beaten 
hat  back  from  his  tanned  face.  He  wore  a  mus 
tache  and  a  chin  whisker  of  that  variety  desig- 

93 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

nated  in  the  mountains  by  the  most  opprobrious 
of  epithets.  But  his  smile,  which  drew  his  cheeks 
into  wrinkles  all  about  his  long,  round  nose,  was 
not  unfriendly.  He  looked  with  open  interest 
from  his  frank  but  not  overtrustworthy  eyes  at 
de  Spain.  "I  heard,"  he  said  in  a  good-natured, 
slightly  nasal  tone,  "you  made  a  sunrise  call  on 
us  one  day  last  week." 

"And  I  want  to  say,"  returned  de  Spain, 
equally  amiable,  "that  if  I  had  had  any  idea  you 
folks  would  take  it  so  hard — I  mean,  as  an  affront 
intended  to  any  of  you — I  never  would  have  gone 
into  the  Gap  after  Sassoon.  I  just  assumed — 
making  a  mistake  as  I  now  realize — that  my  scrap 
would  be  with  Sassoon,  not  with  the  Morgans." 

Satt's  face  wrinkled  into  a  humorous  grin. 
"You  sure  kicked  up  some  alkali." 

De  Spaip  nodded  candidly.  "More  than  I  in 
tended  to.  And  I  say — without  any  intention  of 
impertinence  to  anybody  else — Sassoon  is  a  cur. 
I  supposed  when  I  brought  him  in  here  after  so 
much  riding,  that  we  had  sheriff  enough  to  keep 
him."  He  looked  at  Druel  with  such  composure 
that  the  latter  for  a  moment  was  nonplussed. 
Then  he  discharged  a  volley  of  oaths,  and  de 
manded  what  de  Spain  meant.  De  Spain  did  not 
move.  He  refused  to  see  the  angry  sheriff. 
"That  is  where  I  made  my  second  mistake,"  he 

94 


Maintaining  a  Reputation 

continued,  speaking  to  Morgan  and  forcing  his 
tone  just  enough  to  be  heard.  Druel,  with  more 
hard  words,  began  to  abuse  the  railroad  for  not 
paying  taxes  enough  to  build  a  decent  jail.  De 
Spain  took  another  tack.  He  eyed  the  sheriff 
calmly  as  the  latter  continued  to  draw  away 
and  left  de  Spain  standing  somewhat  apart  from 
the  rest  of  the  group.  "Then  it  may  be  I  am 
making  another  mistake,  Druel,  in  blaming  you. 
It  may  not  be  your  fault." 

"The  fault  is,  you're  fresh,"  cried  Druel,  warm 
ing  up  as  de  Spain  appeared  to  cool.  The  line  of 
tipplers  backed  away  from  the  bar.  De  Spain, 
stepping  toward  the  sheriff,  raised  his  hand  in  a 
friendly  way.  "Druel,  you're  hurting  yourself 
by  your  talk.  Make  me  your  deputy  again 
sometime,"  he  concluded,  "and  I'll  see  that 
Sassoon  stays  where  he  is  put." 

"I'll  just  do  that,"  cried  Druel,  with  a  very 
strong  word,  and  he  raised  his  hand  in  turn. 
"Next  time  you  want  him  locked  up,  you  can  take 
care  of  him  yourself." 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  cut  off  the  words; 
a  bullet  tore  like  a  lightning-bolt  across  de  Spain's 
neck,  crashed  through  a  mahogany  pilaster  back 
of  the  bar,  and  embedded  itself  in  the  wall.  The 
shot  had  been  aimed  from  the  street  for  his  head. 
The  noisy  room  instantly  hushed.  Spectators 

95 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

sat  glued  to  their  chairs.  White-faced  players 
leaned  motionless  against  the  tables.  De  Spain 
alone  had  acted;  all  that  the  bartenders  could 
ever  remember  after  the  single  rifle-shot  was  see 
ing  his  hand  go  back  as  he  whirled  and  shot 
instantly  toward  the  heavy  report.  He  had 
whipped  out  his  gun  and  fired  sidewise  through 
the  window  at  the  sound. 

That  was  all.  The  bartenders  breathed  and 
looked  again.  Men  were  crowding  like  mad 
through  the  back  doors.  De  Spain,  at  the  cigar 
case,  looked  intently  into  the  rainy  street,  lighted 
from  the  corner  by  a  dingy  lamp.  The  four  men 
near  him  had  not  stirred,  but,  startled  and  alert, 
the  right  hand  of  each  covered  the  butt  of  a  re 
volver.  De  Spain  moved  first.  While  the  pool 
players  jammed  the  back  doors  to  escape,  he  spoke 
to,  without  looking  at,  the  bartender.  "What's 
the  matter  with  your  curtains?"  he  demanded, 
sheathing  his  revolver  and  pointing  with  an  ex 
pletive  to  the  big  sheet  of  plate  glass.  "Is  this 
the  way  you  build  up  business  for  the  house  ?" 

Those  close  enough  to  the  window  saw  that 
the  bare  pane  had  been  cut,  just  above  the  mid 
dle,  by  two  bullet-holes.  Curious  men  examined 
both  fractures  when  de  Spain  and  Lefever  had 
left  the  saloon.  The  first  hole  was  the  larger.  It 
had  been  made  by  a  high-powered  rifle;  the  sec- 

96 


Maintaining  a  Reputation 

ond  was  from  a  bullet  of  a  Colt's  revolver;  it 
was  remarked  as  a  miracle  of  gun-play  that  the 
two  were  hardly  an  inch  apart. 

In  the  street  a  few  minutes  later,  de  Spain  and 
Lefever  encountered  Scott,  who,  with  his  back 
hunched  up,  his  cheap  black  hat  pulled  well  down 
over  his  ears,  his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets 
and  his  thin  coat  collar  modestly  turned  against 
the  drizzling  rain,  was  walking  across  the  park 
way  from  the  station. 

"Sassoon  is  in  town/'  exclaimed  Lefever  with 
certainty  after  he  had  told  the  story.  He  waited 
for  the  Indian's  opinion.  Scott,  looking  through 
the  water  dripping  from  the  brim  of  his  seasoned 
derby,  gave  it  in  one  word.  "Was,"  he  amended 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

"Let's  make  sure,"  insisted  Lefever.  "Sup 
posing  he  might  be  in  town  yet,  Bob,  where  is 
he?" 

Scott  gazed  up  the  street  through  the  rain 
lighted  by  yellow  lamps  on  the  obscure  corners, 
and  looked  down  the  street  toward  the  black 
reaches  of  the  river.  "If  he's  here,  you'll  find 
him  in  one  of  two  places.  Tenison's " 

"But  we've  just  come  from  Tenison's,"  ob 
jected  Lefever. 

"I  mean,  across  the  street,  up-stairs;  or  at 
Jim  Kitchen's  barn.  If  he  was  hurried  to  get 

97 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

away,"  added  Scott  reflectively,  "he  would  slip 
up-stairs  over  there  as  the  nearest  place  to  hide; 
if  he  had  time  he  would  make  for  the  barn,  where 
it  would  be  easy  to  cache  his  rifle." 

Lefever  took  the  lapel  of  the  scout's  coat  in  his 
hand.  "Then  you,  Bob,  go  out  and  see  if  you  can 
get  the  whole  story.  I'll  take  the  barn.  Let 
Henry  go  over  to  Tenison's  and  wait  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs  till  we  can  get  back  there.  It 
is  just  around  the  corner — second  floor — a  dark 
hall  running  back,  opposite  the  double  doors  that 
open  into  an  anteroom.  Stay  there,  Henry,  till 
we  come.  It  won't  be  long,  and  if  we  don't  get 
track  of  him  you  may  spot  your  man  yourself." 

De  Spain  found  no  difficulty  in  locating  the 
flight  of  marble  stairs  that  led  to  the  gambling- 
rooms.  It  was  the  only  lighted  entrance  in  the 
side  street.  No  light  shone  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  but  a  doorway  on  the  left  opened  into  a 
dimly  lighted  anteroom  and  this,  in  turn,  through 
a  large  arch,  opened  on  a  large  room  brilliantly 
lighted  by  chandeliers — one  in  the  centre  and  one 
near  each  corner.  Around  three  sides  of  this 
room  were  placed  the  keno  layouts,  roulette- 
wheels,  faro-tables,  and  minor  gambling  devices. 
Off  the  casino  itself  small  card-rooms  opened. 

The  big  room  was  well  filled  for  a  wet  night. 
The  faro-tables  were  busy,  and  at  the  central  table 

98 


Maintaining  a  Reputation 

at  the  farther  end  of  the  room — the  table  desig 
nated  as  Tenison's,  because,  at  the  rare  intervals 
in  which  the  proprietor  dealt,  he  presided  at  this 
table — a  group  watched  silently  a  game  in  prog 
ress.  De  Spain  took  a  place  in  shadow  near  one 
side  of  the  archway  facing  the  street-door  and  at 
times  looked  within  for  the  loosely  jointed  frame, 
crooked  neck,  tousled  forehead,  and  malevolent 
face  of  the  cattle  thief.  He  could  find  in  the  many 
figures  scattered  about  the  room  none  resembling 
the  one  he  sought. 

A  man  entering  the  place  spoke  to  another 
coming  out.  De  Spain  overheard  the  exchange. 
"Duke  got  rid  of  his  steers  yet  ?"  asked  the  first. 

"Not  yet." 

"Slow  game." 

"The  old  man  sold  quite  a  bunch  this  time. 
The  way  he's  playing  now  he'll  last  twenty-four 
hours." 

De  Spain,  following  the  newcomer,  strolled  into 
the  room  and,  beginning  at  one  side,  proceeded  in 
leisurely  fashion  from  wheel  to  wheel  and  table  to 
table  inspecting  the  players.  Few  looked  at  him 
and  none  paid  any  attention  to  his  presence.  At 
Tenison's  table  he  saw  in  the  dealer's  chair  the 
large,  white,  smooth  face,  dark  eyes,  and  clerical 
expression  of  the  proprietor,  whose  presence  meant 
a  real  game  and  explained  the  interest  of  the 

99 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

idlers  crowded  about  one  player  whom  de  Spain, 
without  getting  closer  in  among  the  onlookers 
than  he  wanted  to,  could  not  see. 

Tenison,  as  de  Spain  approached,  happened  to 
look  wearily  up;  his  face  showed  the  set  lines  of 
a  protracted  session.  He  neither  spoke  nor 
nodded  to  the  newcomer,  but  recognized  him 
with  a  mere  glance.  Then,  though  his  eyes  had 
rested  for  only  an  instant  on  the  new  face,  he 
spoke  in  an  impassive  tone  across  the  interven 
ing  heads:  "What  happened  to  your  red  tie, 
Henry?" 

De  Spain  put  up  his  hand  to  his  neck,  and  looked 
down  at  a  loose  end  hanging  from  his  soft  cravat. 
It  had  been  torn  by  the  bullet  meant  for  his  head. 
He  tucked  the  end  inside  his  collar.  "A  Calabasas 
man  tried  to  untie  it  a  few  minutes  ago.  He 
missed  the  knot." 

Tenison  did  not  hear  the  answer.  He  had  re 
verted  to  his  case.  De  Spain  moved  on  and, 
after  making  the  round  of  the  scattered  tables, 
walked  again  through  the  archway  into  the  ante 
room,  only  to  meet,  as  she  stood  hesitating  and 
apparently  about  to  enter  the  room,  Nan  Morgan. 


100 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    GAMBLING-ROOM 

HpHEY  confronted  each  other  blankly.  To 
Nan's  confusion  was  added  her  embarrass 
ment  at  her  personal  appearance.  Her  hat  was 
wet,  and  the  limp  shoulders  of  her  khaki  jacket 
and  the  front  of  her  silk  blouse  showed  the  wilt 
ing  effect  of  the  rain.  In  one  hand  she  clutched 
wet  riding-gloves.  Her  cheeks,  either  from  the 
cold  rain  or  mental  stress,  fairly  burned,  and  her 
eyes,  which  had  seemed  when  he  encountered 
her,  fired  with  some  resolve,  changed  to  an  ex 
pression  almost  of  dismay. 

This  was  hardly  for  more  than  an  instant. 
Then  her  lips  tightened,  her  eyes  dropped,  and 
she  took  a  step  to  one  side  to  avoid  de  Spain  and 
enter  the  gambling-room.  He  stepped  in  front 
of  her.  She  looked  up,  furious.  "What  do  you 
mean?"  she  exclaimed  with  indignation.  "Let 
me  pass." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  restored  his  self-posses 
sion.  He  made  no  move  to  get  out  of  her  way, 
indeed  he  rather  pointedly  continued  to  obstruct 

101 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

her.  "You've  made  a  mistake,  I  think,"  he  said 
evenly. 

"I  have  not,"  she  replied  with  resentment. 
"Let  me  pass." 

"I  think  you  have.  You  don't  know  where  you 
are  going,"  he  persisted,  his  eyes  bent  uncom 
promisingly  on  hers. 

She  showed  increasing  irritation  at  his  attempt 
to  exculpate  her.  "I  know  perfectly  well  where 
I  am  going,"  she  retorted  with  heat. 

"Then  you  know,"  he  returned  steadily,  "that 
you've  no  business  to  enter  such  a  place." 

His  opposition  seemed  only  to  anger  her.  "I 
know  where  I  have  business.  I  need  no  admoni 
tions  from  you  as  to  what  places  I  enter.  You 
are  impertinent,  insulting.  Let  me  pass!" 

His  stubborn  opposition  showed  no  signs  of 
weakening  before  her  resolve.  "One  question," 
he  said,  ignoring  her  angry  words.  "Have  you 
ever  been  in  these  rooms  before?" 

He  thought  she  quailed  the  least  bit  before  his 
searching  look.  She  even  hesitated  as  to  what 
to  say.  But  if  her  eyes  fell  momentarily  it  was 
only  to  collect  herself.  "Yes,"  she  answered, 
looking  up  unflinchingly. 

Her  resolute  eyes  supported  her  defiant  word 
and  openly  challenged  his  interference,  but  he 
met  her  once  more  quietly.  "I  am  sorry  to  hear 

102 


The  Gambling-Room 

it,"  he  rejoined.  "But  that  won't  make  any 
difference.  You  can't  go  in  to-night." 

"I  will  go  in,"  she  cried. 

"No,"  he  returned  slowly,  "you  are  not  going 
in — not,  at  least,  while  I  am  here." 

They  stood  immovable.  He  tried  to  reason 
her  out  of  her  determination.  She  resented 
every  word  he  offered.  "You  are  most  insolent," 
she  exclaimed.  "You  are  interfering  in  some 
thing  that  is  no  concern  of  yours.  You  have  no 
right  to  act  in  this  outrageous  way.  If  you  don't 
stand  aside  I'll  call  for  help." 

"Nan!"  De  Spain  spoke  her  name  suddenly 
and  threateningly.  His  words  fell  fast,  and  he 
checked  her  for  an  instant  with  his  vehemence. 
"We  met  in  the  Gap  a  week  ago.  I  said  I  was 
telling  you  the  exact  truth.  Did  I  do  it  ?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  said  or  what  you 
did " 

"Answer  me,"  he  said  sharply,  "did  I  tell  you 
the  truth?" 

"I  don't  know  or  care " 

"Yes,  you  do  know— 

"What  you  say  or  do— 

"I  told  you  the  truth  then,  I  am  telling  it  now. 
I  will  never  see  you  enter  a  gambling-room  as  long 
as  I  can  prevent  it.  Call  for  help  if  you  like." 

She  looked  at  him  with  amazement."  She 
103 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

seemed  about  to  speak — to  make  another  pro 
test.  Instead,  she  turned  suddenly  away,  hesi 
tated  again,  put  both  her  hands  to  her  face, 
burst  into  tears,  and  hurried  toward  the  stairs. 
De  Spain  followed  her.  "Let  me  take  you  to 
where  you  are  going?" 

Nan  turned  on  him,  her  eyes  blazing  through 
her  tears,  with  a  single,  scornful,  furious  word: 
"No  1"  She  quickened  her  step  from  him  in  such 
confusion  that  she  ran  into  two  men  just  reach 
ing  the  top  of  the  stairs.  They  separated  with 
alacrity,  and  gave  her  passage.  One  of  the  men 
was  Lefever,  who,  despite  his  size,  was  extremely 
nimble  in  getting  out  of  her  urgent  way,  and 
quick  in  lifting  his  hat.  She  fairly  raced  down 
the  flight  of  steps,  leaving  Lefever  looking  after 
her  in  astonishment.  He  turned  to  de  Spain: 
"Now,  who  the  deuce  was  that  ?" 

De  Spain  ignored  his  question  by  asking  an 
other:  "Did  you  find  him?"  Lefever  shook  his 
head.  "Not  a  trace;  I  covered  Main  Street. 
I  guess  Bob  was  right.  Nobody  home  here, 
Henry?" 

"Nobody  we  want." 

"Nothing  going  on  ?" 

"Not  a  thing.  If  you  will  wait  here  for  Bob, 
I'll  run  over  to  the  office  and  answer  those  tele 
grams." 

104 


The  Gambling-Room 

De  Spain  started  for  the  stairs.  "Henry," 
called  Lefever,  as  his  companion  trotted  hastily 
down,  "if  you  catch  up  to  her,  kindly  apologize 
for  a  fat  man." 

But  de  Spain  was  balked  of  an  opportunity  to 
follow  Nan.  In  the  street  he  ran  into  Scott. 
"Did  you  get  the  story  ?"  demanded  de  Spain. 

"Part  of  it." 

"Was  it  Sassoon?" 

Scott  shook  his  head.     "I  wish  it  was." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Deaf  Sandusky." 

"Calabasas?"  ' 

Scott  nodded.  "You  must  have  moved  a 
couple  of  inches  at  the  right  nick,  Henry.  That 
man  Sandusky,"  Bob  smiled  a  sickly  smile, 
"doesn't  miss  very  often.  He  was  bothered  a 
little  by  his  friends  being  all  around  you." 

The  two  regarded  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  "Why,"  asked  de  Spain,  boiling  a  little, 
"should  that  damned,  hulking  brute  try  to  blow 
my  head  off  just  now  ?" 

"Only  for  the  good  of  the  order,  Henry," 
grinned  the  scout. 

"Nice  job  Jeff  has  picked  out  for  me,"  mut 
tered  de  Spain  grimly,  "standing  up  in  these 
Sleepy  Cat  barrooms  to  be  shot  at."  He  drew 
in  a  good  breath  and  threw  up  the  wet  brim  of  his 

105 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

hat.  "Well,  such  is  life  in  the  high  country,  I 
suppose.  Some  fine  day  Mr.  Sandusky  will  man 
age  to  get  me — or  I'll  manage  to  get  him — that 
all  depends  on  how  the  happening  happens. 
Anyway,  Bob,  it's  bad  luck  to  miss  a  man.  We'll 
hang  that  much  of  a  handicap  on  his  beef-eating 
crop.  Is  he  the  fellow  John  calls  the  butcher?" 
demanded  de  Spain. 

"That's  what  everybody  calls  him,  I  guess." 

The  two  rejoined  Lefever  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  the  three  discussed  the  news.  Even 
Lefever  seemed  more  serious  when  he  heard  the 
report.  Scott,  when  asked  where  Sandusky  now 
was,  nodded  toward  the  big  room  in  front  of  them. 

Lefever  looked  toward  the  gambling-tables. 
"We'll  go  in  and  look  at  him."  He  turned  to 
Scott  to  invite  his  comment  on  the  proposal. 
"Think  twice,  John,"  suggested  the  Indian.  "If 
there's  any  trouble  in  a  crowd  like  that,  somebody 
that  has  no  interest  in  de  Spain  or  Sandusky  is 
pretty  sure  to  get  hurt." 

"I  don't  mean  to  start  anything,"  explained 
Lefever.  "I  only  want  de  Spain  to  look  at  him." 

But  sometimes  things  start  themselves.  Le 
fever  found  Sandusky  at  a  faro-table.  At  his  side 
sat  his  partner,  Logan.  Three  other  players,  to 
gether  with  the  onlookers,  and  the  dealer — whose 
tumbled  hair  fell  partly  over  the  visor  that  pro- 

106 


The  Gambling-Room 

tected  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the  overhead 
light — made  up  the  group.  The  table  stood  next 
to  that  of  Tenison,  who,  white-faced  and  impas 
sive  under  the  heat  and  light,  still  held  to  his  chair. 

Lefever  took  a  position  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
where  he  faced  Sandusky,  and  de  Spain,  just  be 
hind  his  shoulder,  had  a  chance  to  look  the  two 
Calabasas  men  closely  over.  Sandusky  again  im 
pressed  him  as  a  powerful  man,  who,  beyond  an 
ample  stomach,  carried  his  weight  without  show 
ing  it.  What  de  Spain  most  noted,  as  it  lay  on 
the  table,  was  the  size  and  extreme  length  of  the 
outlaw's  hand.  He  had  heard  of  Sandusky's 
hand.  From  the  tips  of  the  big  fingers  to  the 
base  of  the  palm,  this  right  hand,  spread  over  his 
chips,  would  cover  half  again  the  length  of  the 
hand  of  the  average  man. 

De  Spain  credited  readily  the  extraordinary 
stories  he  had  heard  of  Sandusky's  dexterity  with 
a  revolver  or  a  rifle.  That  he  should  so  lately 
have  missed  a  shot  at  so  close  range  was  partly 
explained  now  that  de  Spain  perceived  Sandusky's 
small,  hard,  brown  eyes  were  somewhat  unnatu 
rally  bright,  and  that  his  brows  knit  every  little 
while  in  his  effort  to  collect  himself.  But  his 
stimulation  only  partly  explained  the  failure;  it 
was  notoriously  hard  to  upset  the  powerful  out 
law  with  alcohol.  De  Spain  noted  the  coarse, 

107 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

straw-colored  hair — plastered  recently  over  the 
forehead  by  a  barber — the  heavy,  sandy  mus 
tache,  freshly  waxed  by  the  same  hand,  the  belli 
cose  nostrils  of  the  Roman  nose,  the  broad,  split 
chin,  and  mean,  deep  lines  of  a  most  unpromising 
face.  Sandusky's  brown  shirt  sprawled  open  at 
the  collar,  and  de  Spain  remembered  again  the 
flashy  waistcoat,  fastened  at  the  last  buttonhole 
by  a  cut-glass  button. 

At  Sandusky's  side  sat  his  crony  in  all  im 
portant  undertakings — a  much  smaller,  sparer 
man,  with  aggressive  shoulders  and  restless  eyes. 
Logan  was  the  lookout  of  the  pair,  and  his  roving 
glance  lighted  on  de  Spain  before  the  latter  had 
inspected  him  more  than  a  moment.  He  lost  no 
time  in  beginning  on  de  Spain  with  an  insolent 
question  as  to  what  he  was  looking  at.  De  Spain, 
his  eye  bent  steadily  on  him,  answered  with  a 
tone  neither  of  apology  nor  pronounced  offense: 
"I  am  looking  at  you." 

Lefever  hitched  at  his  trousers  cheerily  and, 
stepping  away  from  de  Spain,  took  a  position 
just  behind  the  dealer.  "What  are  you  looking 
at  me  for  ? "  demanded  Logan  insolently. 

De  Spain  raised  his  voice  to  match  exactly  the 
tone  of  the  inquiry.  "So  I'll  know  you  next 


time." 


Logan  pushed  back  his  chair.     As  he  turned 

108 


The  Gambling-Room 

his  legs  from  under  the  table  to  rise,  a  hand 
rested  on  his  shoulder.  He  looked  up  and  saw 
the  brown  face  and  feeble  smile  of  Scott.  Logan 
with  his  nearest  foot  kicked  Sandusky.  The  big 
fellow  looked  up  and  around.  Either  by  chance 
or  in  following  the  sound  of  the  last  voice,  his 
glance  fell  on  de  Spain.  He  scrutinized  for  a 
suspicious  instant  the  burning  eyes  and  the  red 
mark  low  on  the  cheek.  While  he  did  so — com 
prehension  dawning  on  him — his  enormous  hands, 
forsaking  the  pile  of  chips  with  which  both  had 
been  for  a  moment  busy,  flattened  out,  palms 
down,  on  the  faro-table.  Logan  tried  to  rise. 
Scott's  hand  rested  heavily  on  him.  "What's 
the  row?"  demanded  Sandusky  in  the  queer  tone 
of  a  deaf  man.  Logan  pointed  at  de  Spain. 
"That  Medicine  Bend  duck  wants  a  fight." 

"With  a  man,  Logan;  not  with  a  cub,"  retorted 
de  Spain,  matching  insult  with  insult. 

"Maybe  I  can  do  something  for  you,"  inter 
posed  Sandusky.  His  eyes  ran  like  a  flash  around 
the  table.  He  saw  how  Lefever  had  pre-empted 
the  best  place  in  the  room.  He  looked  up  and 
back  at  the  man  standing  now  at  his  shoulder, 
and  almost  between  Logan  and  himself.  It  was 
the  Indian,  Scott.  Sandusky  felt,  as  his  faculties 
cleared  and  arranged  themselves  every  instant, 
that  there  was  no  hurry  whatever  about  lifting 

109 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

his  hand;  but  he  could  not  be  faced  down  without 
a  show  of  resistance,  and  he  concluded  that  for 
this  occasion  his  tongue  was  the  best  weapon. 
"If  I  can,"  he  added  stiffly,  'Tm  at  your  service." 

De  Spain  made  no  answer  beyond  keeping  his 
eyes  well  on  Sandusky's  eyes.  Tenison,  over 
hearing  the  last  words,  awoke  to  the  situation 
and  rose  from  his  case.  He  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd  around  the  disputants  and  brusquely 
directed  the  dealer  to  close  the  game.  While 
Sandusky  was  cashing  in,  Tenison  took  Logan 
aside.  What  Tenison  said  was  not  audible,  but  it 
sufficed  to  quiet  the  little  fellow.  The  only  thing 
further  to  be  settled  was  as  to  who  should  leave 
the  room  last,  since  neither  party  was  willing  to 
go  first.  Tenison,  after  a  formal  conference  with 
Lefever  and  Logan,  offered  to  take  Sandusky 
and  Logan  by  a  private  stairway  to  the  billiard- 
room,  while  Lefever  took  de  Spain  and  Scott  out 
by  way  of  the  main  entrance.  This  was  ar 
ranged,  and  when  the  railroad  men  reached  the 
street  rain  had  ceased  falling. 

Scott  warned  de  Spain  to  keep  within  doors, 
and  de  Spain  promised  to  do  so.  But  when  they 
left  him  he  started  out  at  once  to  see  whether  he 
could  not,  by  some  happy  chance,  encounter  Nan. 


no 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    CUP    OF    COFFEE 

TTE  was  willing,  after  a  long  and  bootless 
search,  to  confess  to  himself  that  he  would 
rather  see  Nan  Morgan  for  one  minute  than  all 
women  else  in  the  world  for  a  lifetime.  The  other 
incidents  of  the  evening  would  have  given  any 
ordinary  man  enough  food  for  reflection — indeed 
they  did  force  de  Spain  to  realize  that  his  life 
would  hang  by  a  slender  thread  while  he  remained 
at  Sleepy  Cat  and  continued  to  brave  the  rulers 
of  the  Sinks. 

But  this  danger,  which  after  all  was  a  portion 
of  his  responsibility  in  freeing  his  stages  from 
the  depredations  of  the  Calabasas  gang,  failed  to 
make  on  him  the  moving  impression  of  one  mo 
ment  of  Nan  Morgan's  eyes.  She  could  upset 
him  completely,  he  was  forced  to  admit,  by  a 
glance,  a  word,  a  gesture — a  mere  turn  of  her 
head.  There  was  in  the  whole  world  nothing  he 
wanted  to  do  so  much  as  in  some  way  to  please 
her — yet  it  seemed  his  ill  luck  to  get  continually 
deeper  into  her  bad  graces.  It  had  so  stunned 
and  angered  him  to  meet  her  intent  on  entering 

in 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

a  gambling-hall  that  he  was  tormented  the  whole 
night.  Association  with  outlaws — what  might  it 
not  do  for  even  such  a  girl  ?  While  her  people 
were  not  all  equally  reprobate,  some  of  them  at 
least  were  not  far  better  than  the  criminals  of 
Calabasas.  To  conceive  of  her  gambling  pub 
licly  in  Sleepy  Cat  was  too  much.  He  had  even 
taken  a  horse,  after  cautiously  but  persistently 
haunting  the  streets  for  an  hour,  and  ridden  across 
the  river  away  out  on  the  mountain  trail,  hoping 
to  catch  a  sight  of  her. 

On  his  way  back  to  town  from  this  wild-goose 
chase,  he  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs.  He  was 
nearing  the  river  and  he  turned  his  horse  into  a 
clump  of  trees  beside  the  bridge.  The  night  was 
very  dark,  but  he  was  close  to  the  trail  and  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  speak  to  Nan  if  it  were  she. 
In  another  moment  his  ear  told  him  there  were 
two  horses  approaching.  He  waited  for  the 
couple  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  they  passed  him 
so  close  he  could  almost  have  touched  the  nearer 
rider.  Then  he  realized,  as  the  horse  passing  be 
side  him  shied,  that  it  was  Sandusky  and  Logan 
riding  silently  by. 

For  a  week  de  Spain  spent  most  of  his  time  in 
Sleepy  Cat  trying  to  catch  sight  of  Nan.  His 
reflection  on  the  untoward  incidents  that  had  set 
them  at  variance  left  him  rebellious.  He  medi- 

112 


A  Cup  of  Coffee 

tated  more  about  putting  himself  right  with  her 
than  about  all  his  remaining  concerns  together. 
A  strange  fire  had  seized  him — that  fire  of  the 
imagination  which  scorns  fair  words  and  fine  rea 
soning,  but  which,  smothered,  burns  in  secret  un 
til,  fanned  by  the  wind  of  accident,  it  bursts  out 
the  more  fiercely  because  of  the  depths  in  which 
it  has  smouldered. 

Every  day  that  de  Spain  rode  across  the  open 
country,  his  eyes  turned  to  the  far  range  and  to 
Music  Mountain.  The  rounded,  distant,  immu 
table  peak — majestic  as  the  sun,  cold  as  the 
stars,  shrouding  in  its  unknown  fastnesses  the 
mysteries  of  the  ages  and  the  secrets  of  time- 
meant  to  him  now  only  this  mountain  girl  whom 
its  solitude  sheltered  and  to  whom  his  thoughts 
continually  came  back. 

Within  two  weeks  he  became  desperate.  He 
rode  the  Gap  trail  from  Sleepy  Cat  again  and  again 
for  miles  and  miles  in  the  effort  to  encounter  her. 
He  came  to  know  every  ridge  and  hollow  on  it, 
every  patch  and  stone  between  the  lava  beds  and 
the  Rat  River.  And  in  spite  of  the  counsels  of 
his  associates,  who  warned  him  to  beware  of 
traps,  he  spent,  under  one  pretext  or  another, 
much  of  the  time  either  on  the  stages  to  and 
from  Calabasas  or  in  the  saddle  toward  Morgan's 
Gap,  looking  for  Nan. 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Killing  time  in  this  way,  after  a  fruitless  ride, 
his  persistence  was  one  day  most  unexpectedly 
rewarded  at  the  Calabasas  barns.  He  had  ridden 
through  a  hot  sun  from  Sleepy  Cat,  passing  the 
up  stage  half-way  to  Calabasas,  and  had  struck 
from  there  directly  out  on  the  Sinks  toward  Mor 
gan's  Gap.  Riding  thence  around  the  lower 
lava  beds,  he  had  headed  for  Calabasas,  where  he 
had  an  appointment  to  meet  Scott  and  Lefever 
at  five  o'clock.  When  de  Spain  reached  the 
Calabasas  barn,  McAlpin,  the  barn  boss,  was 
standing  in  the  doorway.  "You'd  never  be  comin' 
from  Sleepy  Cat  in  the  saddle!"  exclaimed  Mc 
Alpin  incredulously.  De  Spain  nodded  affirma 
tively  as  he  dismounted.  "Hot  ride,  sir;  a  hot 
day,"  commented  McAlpin,  shaking  his  head 
dubiously  as  he  called  a  man  to  take  the  horse, 
unstrapped  de  Spain's  coat  from  the  saddle,  and 
followed  the  manager  into  the  office. 

The  heat  was  oppressive,  and  de  Spain  un 
buckled  his  cartridge-belt,  slipped  his  revolver 
from  the  holster,  mechanically  stuck  it  inside  his 
trousers  waistband,  hung  the  heavy  belt  up  un 
der  his  coat,  and,  sitting  down,  called  for  the 
stage  report  and  asked  whether  the  new  black 
smith  had  sobered  up.  When  McAlpin  had  given 
him  all  minor  information  called  for,  de  Spain 
walked  with  him  out  into  the  barn  to  inspect  the 

114 


A  Cup  of  Coffee 

horses.  Passing  the  very  last  of  the  box-stalls, 
the  manager  saw  in  it  a  pony.  He  stopped.  No 
second  glance  was  needed  to  tell  him  it  was  a 
good  horse;  then  he  realized  that  this  wiry,  sleek- 
legged  roan,  contentedly  munching  at  the  moment 
some  company  hay,  was  Nan  Morgan's. 

McAlpin,  talking  volubly,  essayed  to  move  on, 
but  de  Spain,  stubbornly  pausing,  only  continued 
to  look  at  the  handsome  saddle-horse.  McAlpin 
saw  he  was  in  for  it,  and  resigned  himself  to  an 
inquisition.  When  de  Spain  asked  whose  horse 
it  was,  McAlpin  was  ready.  "That  little  pony 
is  Nan  Morgan's,  sir." 

De  Spain  made  no  comment.  "Good-looking 
pony,  sir,"  ventured  McAlpin  half-heartedly. 

"What's  it  doing  here?"  demanded  de  Spain 
coldly. 

Before  answering,  the  barn  boss  eyed  de  Spain 
very  carefully  to  see  how  the  wind  was  setting, 
for  the  pony's  presence  confessed  an  infraction 
of  a  very  particular  rule.  "You  see,"  he  began, 
cocking  at  his  strict  boss  from  below  his  visorless 
cap  a  questioning  Scotch  eye,  "I  like  to  keep  on 
good  terms  with  that  gang.  Some  of  them  can 
be  very  ugly.  It's  better  to  be  friends  with  them 
when  you  can — by  stretching  the  barn  rules  a 
little  once  in  a  while — than  to  have  enemies  of 
'em  all  the  time — don't  you  think  so,  sir?" 


JNan  or  Music  Mountain 

"What's  her  horse  doing  here?"  asked  de 
Spain,  without  commenting  on  the  long  story, 
but  also  without  showing,  as  far  as  the  barnman 
could  detect,  any  growing  resentment  at  the  in 
fraction  of  his  regulations. 

McAlpin  made  even  the  most  inconsequential 
approaches  to  a  statement  with  a  keen  and  ques 
tioning  glance.  "The  girl  went  up  to  the  Cat 
on  the  early  stage,  sir.  She's  coming  back  this 
afternoon." 

"What  is  she  riding  away  over  here  to  Cala- 
basas  for  to  take  the  stage,  instead  of  riding 
straight  into  Sleepy  Cat?" 

Once  more  McAlpin  eyed  him  carefully.  "The 
girl's  been  sick." 

"Sick?" 

"She  ain't  really  fit  to  ride  a  step,"  confided 
the  Scotch  boss  with  growing  confidence.  "But 
she's  been  going  up  two  or  three  times  now  to 
get  some  medicine  from  Doc  Torpy — that's  the 
way  of  it.  There's  a  nice  girl,  sir — in  a  bunch 
o'  ruffians,  I  know — though  old  Duke,  she  lives 
with,  he  ain't  a  half-bad  man  except  for  too  many 
cards;  I  used  to  work  for  him — but  I  call  her  a 
nice  girl.  Do  you  happen  to  know  her?" 

De  Spain  had  long  been  on  guard.  "I've  spo 
ken  with  her  in  a  business  way  one  or  twice,  Jim. 
I  can't  really  say  I  know  her." 

116 


A  Cup  of  Coffee 

"Nice  girl.  But  that's  a  tough  bunch  in  that 
Gap,  sure  as  you're  alive;  yes,  sir." 

De  Spain  was  well  aware  the  canny  boss  ought 
to  know.  McAlpin  had  lived  at  one  time  in  the 
Gap,  and  was  himself  reputed  to  have  been  a 
hardy  and  enduring  rider  on  a  night  round-up. 

"Anything  sick,  Jim  ?"  asked  de  Spain,  walking 
on  down  the  barn  and  looking  at  the  horses.  It 
was  only  the  second  time  since  he  had  given  him 
the  job  that  de  Spain  had  called  the  barn  boss 
"Jim,"  and  McAlpin  answered  with  the  rising 
assurance  of  one  who  realizes  he  is  "in"  right. 
"Not  so  much  as  a  sore  hoof  in  either  alley,  Mr. 
de  Spain.  I  try  to  take  care  of  them,  sir." 

"What  are  we  paying  you,  Jim  ?" 

"Twenty-seven  a  week,  sir;  pretty  heavy  work 
at  that." 

"We'll  try  to  make  that  thirty-two  after  this 
week." 

McAlpin  touched  his  cap.  "Thank  you  kindly, 
sir,  I'm  sure.  It  costs  like  hell  to  live  out  here, 
Mr.  de  Spain." 

"Lefever  says  you  live  off  him  at  poker." 

"Ha,  ha!  Ha,  ha,  sir!  John  will  have  his 
joke.  He's  always  after  me  to  play  poker  with 
him — I  don't  like  to  do  it.  I've  got  a  family  to 
support — he  ain't.  But  by  and  far,  I  don't  think 
John  and  me  is  ten  dollars  apart,  year  in  and  year 

117 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

out.  Look  at  that  bay,  sir !  A  month  ago  El- 
paso  said  that  horse  was  all  in — look  at  him  now. 
I  manage  to  keep  things  up." 

"What  did  you  say,"  asked  de  Spain  indiffer 
ently,  "had  been  the  matter  with  Nan  Morgan  ?" 
Her  name  seemed  a  whole  mouthful  to  speak,  so 
fearful  was  he  of  betraying  interest. 

"Why,  I  really  didn't  say,  sir.  And  I  don't 
know.  But  from  what  she  says,  and  the  way  she 
coughs,  I'm  thinking  it  was  a  touch  of  this  p-new- 
monia  that's  going  around  so  much  lately,  sir." 

His  listener  recalled  swiftly  the  days  that  had 
passed  since  the  night  he  had  seen  her  wet  through 
in  the  cold  rain  at  Sleepy  Cat.  He  feared  Jim's 
diagnosis  might  be  right.  And  he  had  already 
made  all  arrangements  to  meet  the  occasion  now 
presenting  itself.  Circumstances  seemed  at  last 
to  favor  him,  and  he  looked  at  his  watch.  The 
down  stage  bringing  Nan  back  would  be  due  in 
less  than  an  hour. 

"Jim,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "you  are  doing 
the  right  thing  in  showing  some  good-will  toward 
the  Morgans." 

"Now,  I'm  glad  you  think  that,  sir." 

"You  know  I  unintentionally  rubbed  their 
backs  the  wrong  way  in  dragging  Sassoon  out." 

"They're  jealous  of  their  power,  I  know — very 
jealous." 

118 


A  Cup  of  Coffee 


"This  seems  the  chance  to  show  that  I  have  no 
real  animosity  myself  toward  the  outfit." 

Since  de  Spain  was  not  looking  at  him,  McAlpin 
cocked  two  keen  and  curious  eyes  on  the  sphinx- 
like  birthmark  of  the  very  amiable  speaker's  face. 
However,  the  astute  boss,  if  he  wondered,  made 
no  comment.  "When  the  stage  comes  in,"  con 
tinued  de  Spain  quietly,  "have  the  two  grays- 
Lady  and  Ben — hitched  to  my  own  light  Stude- 
baker.  I'll  drive  her  over  to  the  Gap  myself." 

"The  very  thing,"  exclaimed  McAlpin,  staring 
and  struggling  with  his  breath. 

"In  some  way  I've  happened,  both  times  I 
talked  with  her,  to  get  in  wrong — understand?" 
McAlpin,  with  clearing  wits,  nodded  more  than 
once.  "No  fault  of  mine;  it  just  happened  so. 
And  she  may  not  at  first  take  kindly  to  the  idea 
of  going  with  me." 

"I  see." 

"But  she  ought  to  do  it.  She  will  be  tired — 
it's  a  long,  dusty  ride  for  a  well  woman,  let  alone 
one  that  has  been  ill." 

"So  it  is,  so  it  is !" 

De  Spain  looked  now  shamelessly  at  his  ready- 
witted  aid.  "See  that  her  pony  is  lame  when  she 
gets  here — can't  be  ridden.  But  you'll  take  good 
care  of  him  and  send  him  home  in  a  few  days — 
get  it?" 

119 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

McAlpin  half  closed  his  eyes.  "He'll  be  so 
lame  it  would  stagger  a  cowboy  to  back  him  ten 
feet — and  never  be  hurt  a  mite,  neither.  Trust 


me!" 


"No  other  horse  that  she  could  ride,  in  the 
barn?" 

"No  horse  she  could  ride  between  Calabasas 
and  Thief  River." 

"If  she  insists  on  riding  something,  or  even 
walking  home,"  continued  de  Spain  dubiously, 
for  he  felt  instinctively  that  he  should  have  the 
task  of  his  life  to  induce  Nan  to  accept  any  kind 
of  a  peace-offering,  "I'll  ride  or  walk  with  her 
anyway.  Can  you  sleep  me  here  to-night,  on  the 
hay?" 

"Sleep  you  on  a  hair  mattress,  sir.  You've 
got  a  room  right  here  up-stairs,  didn't  you  know 
that?" 

"Don't  mind  the  bed,"  directed  de  Spain  pru 
dently.  "I  like  the  hay  better." 

"As  you  like;  we've  got  plenty  of  it  fresh  up 
stairs,  from  the  Gap.  But  the  bed's  all  right, 
sir;  it  is,  on  me  word." 

With  arrangements  so  begun,  de  Spain  walked 
out-of-doors  and  looked  reflectively  up  the  Sleepy 
Cat  road.  One  further  refinement  in  his  appeal 
for  Nan's  favor  suggested  itself.  She  would  be 
hungry,  possibly  faint  in  the  heat  and  dust,  when 

1 20 


A  Cup  of  Coffee 

she  arrived.  He  returned  to  McAlpin:  "Where 
can  I  get  a  good  cup  of  coffee  when  the  stage 
comes  in  ?" 

"Go  right  down  to  the  inn,  sir.  It's  a  new 
chap  running  it — a  half-witted  man  from  Texas. 
My  wife  is  cooking  there  off  and  on.  She'll  fix 
you  up  a  sandwich  and  a  cup  of  good  coffee." 

It  was  four  o'clock,  and  the  sun  beat  fiercely 
on  the  desert.  De  Spain  walked  down  to  the  inn 
unmindful  of  the  heat.  In  summer  rig,  with  his 
soft-shirt  collar  turned  under,  his  forearms  bare, 
and  his  thoughts  engaged,  he  made  his  way  rap 
idly  on,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left. 

As  he  approached  the  weather-beaten  pile 
it  looked  no  more  inviting  in  sunshine  than  it 
had  looked  in  shadow;  and  true  to  its  traditions, 
not  a  living  being  was  anywhere  to  be  seen.  The 
door  of  the  office  stood  ajar.  De  Spain,  pushing 
it  all  the  way  open,  walked  in.  No  one  greeted 
him  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  and  the  unsightly 
room  was  still  bare  of  furnishings  except  for  the 
great  mahogany  bar,  with  its  two  very  large 
broken  mirrors  and  the  battered  pilasters  and 
carvings. 

De  Spain  pounded  on  the  bar.  His  effort  to 
attract  attention  met  with  no  response.  He 
walked  to  the  left  end  of  the  bar,  lifted  the  hand 
rail  that  enclosed  the  space  behind  it,  and  pushed 

121 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

open  the  door  between  the  mirrors  leading  to 
the  back  room.  This,  too,  was  empty.  He 
called  out — there  was  no  response.  He  walked 
through  a  second  door  opening  on  an  arcaded 
passageway  toward  the  kitchen — not  a  soul  was 
in  sight.  There  was  a  low  fire  in  the  kitchen 
stove,  but  Mrs.  McAlpin  had  apparently  gone 
home  for  a  while.  Walking  back  toward  the 
office,  he  remembered  the  covered  way  leading 
to  a  patio,  which  in  turn  opened  on  the  main 
road.  He  perceived  also  that  at  the  end  next 
the  office  the  covered  way  faced  the  window  at 
the  end  of  the  long  bar. 

Irritated  at  the  desertion  of  the  place,  due,  he 
afterward  learned,  to  the  heat  of  the  afternoon, 
and  disappointed  at  the  frustration  of  his  pur 
pose,  he  walked  back  through  the  rear  room  into 
the  office.  As  he  lifted  the  hand-rail  and,  passing 
through,  lowered  it  behind  him,  he  took  out  his 
watch  to  see  how  soon  the  stage  was  due.  While 
he  held  the  timepiece  in  his  hand  he  heard  a 
rapid  clatter  of  hoofs  approaching  the  place. 
Thinking  it  might  be  Scott  and  Lefever  arriving 
from  the  south  an  hour  ahead  of  time,  he  started 
toward  the  front  door — which  was  still  open — to 
greet  them.  Outside,  hurried  footsteps  reached 
the  door  just  ahead  of  him  and  a  large  man,  step 
ping  quickly  into  the  room,  confronted  de  Spain. 

122 


A  Cup  of  Coffee 

One  of  the  man's  hands  rested  lightly  on  his  right 
side.  De  Spain  recognized  him  instantly;  the 
small,  drooping  head,  carried  well  forward,  the 
keen  eyes,  the  long  hand,  and,  had  there  still 
been  a  question  in  his  mind,  the  loud-patterned, 
shabby  waistcoat  would  have  proclaimed  beyond 
doubt — Deaf  Sandusky. 


123 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    GLASS    BUTTON 

T^VEN  as  the  big  fellow  stepped  lightly  just 
inside  and  to  the  left — as  de  Spain  stood — 
of  the  door  and  faced  him,  the  encounter  seemed 
to  de  Spain  accidental.  While  Sandusky  was  not 
a  man  he  would  have  chosen  to  meet  at  that  time, 
he  did  not  at  first  consider  the  incident  an  event 
ful  one.  But  before  he  could  speak,  a  second 
man  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  this  man  ap 
peared  to  be  joking  with  a  third,  behind  him. 
As  the  second  man  crossed  the  threshold,  de  Spain 
saw  Sandusky's  high-voiced  little  fighting  crony, 
Logan,  who  now  made  way,  as  he  stepped  within 
to  the  right  of  the  open  door,  for  the  swinging 
shoulders  and  rolling  stride  of  Gale  Morgan. 

Morgan,  eying  de  Spain  with  insolence,  as  was 
his  wont,  closed  the  door  behind  him  with  a 
bang.  Then  he  backed  his  powerful  frame  sig 
nificantly  against  it. 

A  blind  man  could  have  seen  the  completeness 
of  the  snare.  An  unpleasant  feeling  flashed 
across  de  Spain's  perception.  It  was  only  for  the 
immeasurable  part  of  a  second — while  uncertainty 

124 


The  Glass  Button 

was  resolving  itself  into  a  rapid  certainty.  When 
Gale  Morgan  stepped  into  the  room  on  the  heels 
of  his  two  Calabasas  friends,  de  Spain  would 
have  sold  for  less  than  a  cup  of  coffee  all  his 
chances  for  life.  Nevertheless,  before  Morgan 
had  set  his  back  fairly  against  the  door  and  the 
trap  was  sprung,  de  Spain  had  mapped  his  fight, 
and  had  already  felt  that,  although  he  might  not 
be  the  fortunate  man,  not  more  than  one  of  the 
four  within  the  room  would  be  likely  to  leave  it 
alive. 

He  did  not  retreat  from  where  he  halted  at  the 
instant  Sandusky  entered.  His  one  slender  chance 
was  to  hug  to  the  men  that  meant  to  kill  him. 
Morgan,  the  nearest,  he  esteemed  the  least  dan 
gerous  of  the  three;  but  to  think  to  escape  both 
Sandusky  and  Logan  at  close  quarters  was,  he 
knew,  more  than  ought  to  be  hoped  for. 

While  Morgan  was  closing  the  door,  de  Spain 
smiled  at  his  visitors:  "That  isn't  necessary, 
Morgan:  I'm  not  ready  to  run."  Morgan  only 
continued  to  stare  at  him.  "I  need  hardly  ask," 
added  de  Spain,  "whether  you  fellows  have  busi 
ness  with  me  ?" 

He  looked  to  Sandusky  for  a  reply;  it  was  Lo 
gan  who  answered  in  shrill  falsetto:  "No.  We 
don't  happen  to  have  business  that  I  know  of.  A 
friend  of  ours  may  have  a  little,  maybe  !"  Logan, 

125 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

lifting  his  shoulders  with  his  laugh,  looked  toward 
his  companions  for  an  answer  to  his  joke. 

De  Spain's  smile  appeared  unruffled:  "You'll 
help  him  transact  it,  I  suppose?" 

Logan,  looking  again  toward  Sandusky,  grinned: 
"He  won't  need  any  help." 

"Who  is  your  friend  ?"  demanded  de  Spain 
good-naturedly.  Logan's  glance  misled  him;  it 
did  not  refer  to  Sandusky.  And  even  as  he  asked 
the  question  de  Spain  heard  through  the  half-open 
window  at  the  end  of  the  bar  the  sound  of  hoofs. 
Hoping  against  hope  for  Lefever,  the  interrup 
tion  cheered  him.  It  certainly  did  not  seem  that 
his  situation  could  be  made  worse. 

"Well,"  answered  Logan,  talking  again  to  his 
gallery  of  cronies,  "we've  got  two  or  three  friends 
that  want  to  see  you.  They're  waiting  outside 
to  see  what  you'll  look  like  in  about  five  min 
utes — ain't  they,  Gale?" 

Some  one  was  moving  within  the  rear  room. 
De  Spain  felt  hope  in  every  footfall  he  heard,  and 
the  mention  this  time  of  Morgan's  name  cleared 
his  plan  of  battle.  Before  Gale,  with  an  oath, 
could  blurt  out  his  answer,  de  Spain  had  resolved 
to  fight  where  he  stood,  taking  Logan  first  and 
Morgan  as  he  should  jump  in  between  the  two. 
It  was  at  the  best  a  hopeless  venture  against  San- 
dusky's  first  shot,  which  de  Spain  knew  was  al- 

126 


The  Glass  Button 

most  sure  to  reach  a  vital  spot.  But  desperate 
men  cannot  be  choosers. 

"There's  no  time  for  seeing  me  like  the  pres 
ent,"  declared  de  Spain,  ignoring  Morgan  and  ad 
dressing  his  words  to  Logan.  "Bring  your 
friends  in.  What  are  you  complaining  about, 
Morgan  ?"  he  asked,  resenting  the  stream  of  abuse 
that  Gale  hurled  at  him  whenever  he  could  get  a 
word  in.  "I  had  my  turn  at  you  with  a  rifle  the 
other  day.  You've  got  your  turn  now.  And  I 
call  it  a  pretty  soft  one,  too — don't  you,  San- 
dusky?"  he  demanded  suddenly  of  the  big  fel 
low. 

Sandusky  alone  through  the  talk  had  kept  an 
unbroken  silence.  He  was  eating  up  de  Spain 
with  his  eyes,  and  de  Spain  not  only  ached  to 
hear  him  speak  but  was  resolved  to  make  him. 
Sandusky  had  stood  motionless  from  the  instant 
he  entered  the  room.  He  knew  all  about  the  pre 
liminary  gabble  of  a  fight  and  took  no  interest  in 
it.  He  did  not  know  all  about  de  Spain,  and  being 
about  to  face  his  bullets  he  had  prudence  enough 
to  wonder  whether  the  man  could  have  brought 
a  reputation  to  Sleepy  Cat  without  having  done 
something  to  earn  it.  What  Sandusky  was  sensi 
bly  intent  on  was  the  determination  that  he 
should  not  contribute  personally  to  the  further 
upbuilding  of  anybody's  reputation.  His  eyes 

127 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

with  this  resolve  shining  in  them  rested  intently 
on  de  Spain,  and  at  his  side  the  long  fingers 
of  his  right  hand  beat  a  soft  tattoo  against  his 
pistol  holster.  De  Spain's  question  seemed  to 
arouse  him.  "What's  your  name  ?"  he  demanded 
bluntly.  His  voice  was  heavy  and  his  deafness 
was  reflected  in  the  strained  tone. 

"It's  on  the  butt  of  my  gun,  Sandusky." 

"What's  that  he  says?"  demanded  the  man 
known  as  the  butcher,  asking  the  question  of 
Logan,  but  without  taking  his  eyes  off  his  shifty 
prey. 

Logan  raised  his  voice  to  repeat  the  words  and 
to  add  a  ribald  comment. 

"You  make  a  good  deal  of  noise,"  muttered 
Sandusky,  speaking  again  to  de  Spain. 

"That  ought  not  to  bother  you  much,  San 
dusky,"  shouted  de  Spain,  trying  to  win  a  smile 
from  his  taciturn  antagonist. 

"His  noise  won't  bother  anybody  much  longer," 
put  in  Logan,  whose  retorts  overflowed  at  every 
interval.  But  there  was  no  smile  even  hinted  at 
in  the  uncompromising  vigilance  of  Sandusky's 
expressionless  face.  De  Spain  discounted  the  next 
few  mintues  far  enough  to  feel  that  Sandusky's 
first  shot  would  mean  death  to  him,  even  if  he 
could  return  it. 

"I'll  tell  you,  de  Spain,"  continued  Logan, 
128 


The  Glass  Button 

"we're  going  to  have  a  drink  with  you.  Then 
we're  going  to  prepare  you  for  going  back  where 
you  come  from — with  nice  flowers." 

"I  guess  you  thought  you  could  come  out  here 
and  run  over  everybody  in  the  Spanish  Sinks," 
interposed  Morgan,  with  every  oath  he  could 
summon  to  load  his  words. 

"Keep  out,  Morgan,"  exclaimed  Logan  testily. 
"I'll  do  this  talking." 

De  Spain  continued  to  banter.  "Gentlemen," 
he  said,  addressing  the  three  together  and  realiz 
ing  that  every  moment  wasted  before  the  shooting 
added  a  grain  of  hope,  "I  am  ready  to  drink  when 
you  are." 

"He's  ready  to  drink,  Tom,"  roared  Morgan 
in  the  deaf  man's  ear. 

"I'm  ready,"  announced  Sandusky  in  hollow 
voice. 

Still  regarding  de  Spain  with  the  most  busi 
nesslike  expression,  the  grizzled  outlaw  took  a 
guarded  step  forward,  his  companions  following 
suit.  De  Spain,  always  with  a  jealous  regard  for 
the  relative  distance  between  him  and  his  self- 
appointed  executioners,  moved  backward.  In 
crossing  the  room,  Sandusky,  without  objection 
from  his  companions,  moved  across  their  front, 
and  when  the  four  lined  up  at  the  bar  their  posi 
tions  had  changed.  De  Spain  stood  at  the  ex- 

129 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

treme  left,  Sandusky  next,  Logan  beside  him, 
and  Gale  Morgan,  at  the  other  end  of  the  line, 
pretended  to  pound  the  bar  for  service.  De 
Spain,  following  mountain  etiquette  in  the  cir 
cumstances,  spread  his  open  hands,  palms  down, 
on  the  bar.  Sandusky's  great  palms  slid  in  the 
same  fashion  over  the  checked  slab  in  unspoken 
recognition  of  the  brief  armistice.  Logan's  hands 
came  up  in  turn,  and  Morgan  still  pounded  for 
some  one  to  serve. 

De  Spain  in  the  new  disposition  weighed  his 
chances  as  being  both  better  and  worse.  They 
had  put  Sandusky's  first  shot  at  no  more  than  an 
arm's  length  from  his  prey,  with  Logan  next  to 
cover  the  possibility  of  the  big  fellow's  failing  to 
paralyze  de  Spain  the  first  instant.  On  the  other 
hand,  de  Spain,  trained  in  the  tactics  of  Whisper 
ing  Smith  and  Medicine  Bend  gunmen,  welcomed 
a  short-arm  struggle  with  the  worst  of  his  assail 
ants  closest  at  hand.  One  factor,  too,  that  he 
realized  they  were  reckoning  with,  gave  him  no 
concern.  No  men  in  the  mountains  understood 
better  or  were  more  expert  in  the  technicalities 
of  the  law  of  self-defense  than  the  gunmen  of 
Calabasas.  The  killing  of  de  Spain  they  well 
knew  would,  in  spite  of  everything,  raise  a  hor 
net's  nest  in  Sleepy  Cat,  and  they  wished  to  be 
prepared  for  it.  Their  manoeuvring  on  this  score 

130 


The  Glass  Button 

caused  no  disquiet  to  their  slender,  compactly 
built  victim.  "  You'll  wait  a  long  time,  if  you 
wait  for  service  here,  Morgan,"  he  said,  com 
menting  with  composure  on  Morgan's  impatience. 
Logan  looked  again  at  his  two  companions  and 
laughed. 

Every  hope  de  Spain  had  of  possible  help  from 
the  back  room  died  with  that  laugh.  Then  the 
door  behind  the  bar  slowly  opened,  and  the  scar- 
featured  face  of  Sassoon  peered  cautiously  from 
the  gloom.  The  horse  thief,  stooping,  walked  in 
with  a  leer  directed  triumphantly  at  the  railroad 
man. 

If  it  were  possible  to  deepen  it,  the  sinister  spot 
on  de  Spain's  face  darkened.  Something  in  his 
blood  raged  at  the  sight  of  the  malevolent  face. 
He  glanced  at  Logan.  "This,"  he  smiled  faintly, 
nodding  toward  Sassoon  as  he  himself  took  a 
short  step  farther  to  the  left,  "is  your  drink, 
Harvey,  is  it  ?" 

"No,"  retorted  Logan  loudly,  "this  is  your 
drink." 

"I'll  take  Sassoon,"  assented  de  Spain,  good- 
natured  again  and  shifting  still  another  step  to 
the  left.  "What  do  you  fellows  want  now?" 

"We  want  to  punch  a  hole  through  that  straw 
berry,"  said  Logan,  "that  beauty-mark.  Where 
did  you  get  it,  de  Spain  ?" 

131 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"I  might  as  well  ask  where  you  get  your  gall, 
Harvey,"  returned  de  Spain,  watching  Logan 
hunch  Sandusky  toward  the  left  that  both  might 
crowd  him  closer.  "I  was  born  with  my  beauty- 
mark — just  as  you  were  born  with  your  damned 
bad  manners,"  he  added  composedly,  for  in  hug 
ging  up  to  him  his  enemies  were  playing  his  game. 
"You  can't  help  it,  neither  can  I,"  he  went  on. 
"Somebody  is  bound  to  pay  for  putting  that 
mark  on  me.  Somebody  is  bound  to  pay  for  your 
manners.  Why  talk  about  either  ?  Sassoon,  set 
out  for  your  friends — or  I  will.  Spread,  gentle 
men,  spread." 

He  had  reached  the  position  on  which  he  be 
lieved  his  life  depended,  and  stood  so  close  to 
the  end  of  the  bar  that  with  a  single  step,  as  he 
uttered  the  last  words,  he  turned  it.  Sandusky 
pushed  close  next  him.  De  Spain  continued  to 
speak  without  hesitation  or  break,  but  the  words 
seemed  to  have  no  place  in  his  mind.  He  was 
thinking  only,  and  saw  only  within  his  field  of 
vision,  a  cut-glass  button  that  fastened  the  bot 
tom  of  Sandusky's  greased  waistcoat. 

" You've  waited  one  day  too  long  to  collect  for 
your  strawberry,  de  Spain,"  cried  Logan  shrilly. 
"You've  turned  one  trick  too  many  on  the  Sinks, 
young  fellow.  If  the  man  that  put  your  mark 
on  you  ain't  in  this  room,  you'll  never  get  him." 

132 


The  Glass  Button 

"Which  means,  I  take  it,  you're  going  to  try 
to  get  me,"  smiled  de  Spain. 

"No,"  bellowed  Morgan,  "it  means  we  have 
got  you." 

"You  are  fooling  yourself,  Harvey."  De  Spain 
addressed  the  warning  to  Logan.  "And  you,  too, 
Sandusky,"  he  added. 

"We'll  take  care  of  that,"  grinned  Logan. 
Sandusky  kept  silence. 

"You  are  jumping  into  another  man's  fight," 
protested  de  Spain  steadily. 

"Sassoon's  fight  is  our  fight,"  interrupted  Mor 
gan. 

"I  advise  you,"  said  de  Spain  once  more,  look 
ing  with  the  words  at  Sandusky  and  his  crony, 
"to  keep  out  of  it." 

"Sandusky,"  yelled  Logan  to  his  partner,  "he 
advises  me  and  you  to  keep  out  of  this  fight," 
he  shrilly  laughed. 

"Sure,"  assented  Sandusky,  but  with  no  varia 
tion  in  tone  and  his  eyes  on  de  Spain. 

Logan,  with  an  oath,  leaned  over  the  bar  toward 
Sassoon,  and  pointed  contemptuously  toward  the 
end  of  the  bar.  "Shike  !"  he  cried,  "step  through 
the  rail  and  take  that  man's  gun." 

De  Spain,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
four  faces  confronting  him,  laughed  for  the  first 
time.  But  he  was  looking  without  seeing  what 

133 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

he  seemed  to  look  at.  In  reality,  he  saw  only  a 
cut-glass  button.  He  was  face  to  face  with  taking 
a  man's  life  or  surrendering  his  own,  and  he  knew 
the  life  must  be  taken  in  such  a  way  as  instantly 
to  disable  its  possessor.  These  men  had  chosen 
their  time  and  place.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  meet  them.  Sassoon  was  stepping  toward 
him,  though  very  doubtfully.  De  Spain  laughed 
again,  dryly  this  time.  "Go  slow,  Sassoon,"  he 
said.  "That  gun  is  loaded." 

"If  you  want  terms,  hand  over  your  gun  to 
Sassoon,"  cried  Logan. 

"Not  till  it's  empty,"  returned  de  Spain.  "Do 
you  want  to  try  taking  it  ?"  he  demanded  of  Lo 
gan,  his  cheeks  burning  a  little  darker. 

Logan  never  answered  the  question.  It  was 
not  meant  to  be  answered.  For  de  Spain  asked  it 
only  to  cover  the  spring  he  made  at  that  instant 
into  Sandusky's  middle.  Catlike  though  it  was, 
the  feint  did  not  take  the  big  fellow  unprepared. 
He  had  heard  once,  when  or  where  he  could  not 
tell,  but  he  had  never  forgotten  the  hint,  that  de 
Spain,  a  boxer,  was  as  quick  with  his  feet  as  with 
his  hands.  The  outlaw  whirled.  Both  men  shot 
from  the  hip;  the  reports  cracked  together.  One 
bullet  grazing  the  fancy  button  smashed  through 
the  gaudy  waistcoat:  the  other,  as  de  Spain's 
free  hand  struck  at  the  muzzle  of  the  big  man's 

134 


Hugging  his  shield,  de  Spain  threw  his  second  shot  over 
Sandusky's  left  shoulder. 


The  Glass  Button 

gun,  tore  into  de  Spain's  foot.  Sandusky,  con 
vulsed  by  the  frightful  shock,  staggered  against 
de  Spain's  arm,  the  latter  dancing  tight  against 
him.  Logan,  alive  to  the  trick  but  caught  behind 
his  partner,  fired  over  Sandusky's  right  shoulder 
at  de  Spain's  head,  flattened  sidewise  against  the 
gasping  outlaw's  breast.  Hugging  his  shield,  de 
Spain  threw  his  second  shot  over  Sandusky's  left 
shoulder  into  Logan's  face.  Logan,  sinking  to  the 
floor,  never  moved  again.  Supporting  with  ex 
traordinary  strength  the  unwieldy  bulk  of  the 
dying  butcher,  de  Spain  managed  to  steady  him 
as  a  buffer  against  Morgan's  fire  until  he  could 
send  a  slug  over  Sandusky's  head  at  the  instant 
the  latter  collapsed.  Morgan  fell  against  the  bar. 
Sandusky's  weight  dragged  de  Spain  down.  For 
an  instant  the  four  men  sprawled  in  a  heap.  Sas- 
soon,  who  had  not  yet  got  an  effective  shot  across 
at  his  agile  enemy,  dropping  his  revolver,  dodged 
under  the  rail  to  close.  De  Spain,  struggling  to 
free  himself  from  the  dying  man,  saw,  through  a 
mist,  the  greenish  eyes  and  the  thirsty  knife.  He 
fired  from  the  floor.  The  bullet  shook  without 
stopping  his  enemy,  and  de  Spain,  partly  caught 
under  Sandusky's  body,  thought,  as  Sassoon  came 
on,  the  game  was  up.  With  an  effort  born  of 
desperation,  he  dragged  himself  from  under  the 
twitching  giant,  freed  his  revolver,  rolled  away, 

135 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

and,  with  his  sight  swimming,  swung  the  gun  at 
Sassoon's  stomach.  He  meant  to  kill  him.  The 
bullet  whirled  the  white-faced  man  to  one  side 
and  he  dropped,  but  pulled  himself,  full  of  fight, 
to  his  knees  and,  knife  in  hand,  panted  forward. 
De  Spain  rolling  hastily  from  him,  staggered  to 
his  feet  and,  running  in  as  Sassoon  tried  to  strike, 
beat  him  senseless  with  the  butt  of  his  gun. 

His  own  eyes  were  streaming  blood.  His  head 
was  reeling  and  he  was  breathless,  but  he  remem 
bered  those  of  the  gang  waiting  outside.  He  still 
could  see  dimly  the  window  at  the  end  of  the  bar. 
Dashing  his  fingers  through  the  red  stream  on 
his  forehead,  he  ran  for  the  window,  smashed 
through  the  sash  into  the  patio  and  found  Sas- 
soon's  horse  trembling  at  the  fusillade.  Catching 
the  lines  and  the  pommel,  he  stuck  his  foot  up 
again  and  again  for  the  stirrup.  It  was  useless; 
he  could  not  make  it.  Then,  summoning  all  of 
his  fast-ebbing  strength,  he  threw  himself  like  a 
sack  across  the  horse's  back,  lashed  the  brute 
through  the  open  gateway,  climbed  into  the  sad 
dle,  and  spurred  blindly  away. 


136 


CHAPTER  XI 

AFTER   THE    STORM 

TT  was  well  along  toward  midnight  of  the  same 
day  when  two  horsemen,  after  having  ridden 
circumspectly  around  the  outbuildings  and  cor 
rals,  dismounted  from  their  horses  at  some  little 
distance  from  the  door  of  the  Calabasas  Inn. 
They  shook  out  their  legs  as  men  do  after  a  long 
turn  in  the  saddle  and  faced  each  other  in  a  whis 
pered  colloquy.  An  overcast  sky,  darkening  the 
night,  concealed  the  alkali  crusting  the  riders  and 
their  horses;  but  the  hard  breathing  of  the  latter 
in  the  darkness  told  of  a  pace  forced  for  some  hours. 

"Find  your  feet  before  you  go  in,  Pardaloe," 
suggested  the  heavier  of  the  two  men  guardedly 
to  the  taller  one. 

"Does  this  man  know  you  ?"  muttered  the  man 
addressed  as  Pardaloe,  stamping  in  the  soft  dust 
and  shifting  slightly  a  gun  harness  on  his  breast. 

"  Pedro  knows  me,"  returned  Lefever,  the  other 
man,  "but  McAlpin  says  there  is  a  new  man  here, 
a  half-wit.  They  all  belong  to  the  same  gang — 
coiners,  I  believe,  every  one  of  them.  They  work 
here  and  push  in  Texas." 

137 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Can  you  spot  the  room  when  you  get  up 
stairs,  where  we  saw  that  streak  of  light  a  minute 
ago?"  demanded  Pardaloe,  gazing  at  the  black 
front  of  the  building. 

"I  can  spot  every  foot  of  the  place,  up -stairs 
and  down,  in  the  dark,"  declared  Lefever,  peer 
ing  through  the  inky  night  at  the  ruinous  pile. 

Instead  of  meeting  de  Spain,  as  appointed,  Le 
fever  had  come  in  from  the  Thief  River  stage 
with  Scott  three  hours  late  only  to  learn  of  the 
fight  at  the  Inn  and  de  Spain's  disappearance. 
Jeffries  had  already  sent  a  party,  of  whom  Parda 
loe,  a  man  of  Farrell  Kennedy's  from  Medicine 
Bend,  had  been  picked  up  as  one,  down  from 
Sleepy  Cat,  to  look  for  the  missing  man,  and  for 
hours  the  search  had  gone  forward. 

"Suppose  you  go  back  to  the  barn,"  suggested 
Pardaloe,  "and  wait  there  while  I  go  in  and  have 
a  little  talk  with  the  landlord." 

"Why,  yes,  Pardaloe.  That's  an  idea,"  as 
sented  Lefever  feebly.  Then  he  laid  the  first  two 
fingers  of  his  fat  right  hand  on  the  lapel  of  his  com 
panion's  coat:  "Where  should  you  like  your  body 
sent?"  he  asked  in  feigned  confidence.  "Con 
cerning  these  little  details,  it's  just  as  well  to 
know  3'our  wishes  now." 

uYou  don't  suppose  this  boob  will  try  to  fight, 
do  you,  when  he  knows  Jeffries  will  burn  the 

138 


After  the  Storm 

shack  over  his  head  if  another  railroad  man  is 
attacked  in  it?"  demanded  Pardaloe. 

"The  most  ruinous  habit  I  have  had  in  life — 
and  first  and  last  I  have  contracted  many — has 
been,  trusting  other  people,"  observed  Lefever. 
"A  man  shouldn't  trust  anybody — not  even  him 
self.  We  can  burn  the  boob's  shack  down — of 
course:  but  if  you  go  in  there  alone  the  ensuing 
blaze  would  be  of  no  particular  interest  to  you." 

"All  right.    We  go  in  together." 

"Not  exactly  that,  either.  You  go  first.  Few 
of  these  forty-four  bullets  will  go  through  two 


men  at  once." 


Ignoring  Lefever's  pleasantry,  Pardaloe,  pull 
ing  his  hat  brim  through  force  of  habit  well  over 
his  eyes,  shook  himself  loose  and,  like  a  big  cat 
walking  in  water,  stepped  toward  the  door.  He 
could  move  his  tall,  bony  frame,  seemingly  cov 
ered  only  with  muscles  and  sinews,  so  silently 
that  in  the  dark  he  made  no  more  sound  than  a 
spectre.  But  once  before  the  door,  with  Lefever 
close  at  hand,  he  pounded  the  cracked  panels  till 
the  windows  shook.  Some  time  elapsed  before 
there  was  any  response.  The  pounding  con 
tinued  till  a  flickering  light  appeared  at  a  win 
dow.  There  was  an  ill-natured  colloquy,  a  delay, 
more  impatience,  and  at  length  the  landlord  re 
luctantly  opened  the  door. 

139 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

He  held  in  his  hand  an  oil-lamp.  The  chimney 
had  been  smoked  in  such  a  way  that  the  light  of 
the  flame  was  thrown  forward  and  not  back. 
Lefever  in  the  background,  nothing  disturbed, 
threw  a  flash-light  back  at  the  half-dressed  inn 
keeper.  His  hair  was  tumbled  sleepily  across  his 
forehead  and  his  eyes — one  showing  a  white  scar 
across  the  pupil — set  deep  in  retreating  orbits, 
blinked  under  heavy  brows.  "What  do  you 
want?"  he  demanded.  Pardaloe,  without  an 
swering,  pushed  through  the  half-open  door  into 
the  room. 

"We're  staying  here  to-night,"  announced  Par 
daloe,  as  simply  as  possible.  Lefever  had  already 
edged  into  the  doorway,  pushing  the  stubborn 
innkeeper  aside  by  sheer  bulk  of  weight  and  size. 

The  sleepy  man  gave  ground  stubbornly. 
"I've  got  no  beds,"  he  growled  surlily.  "You 
can't  stay  here." 

Lefever  at  once  assumed  the  case  for  the  in 
truders.  "I  could  sleep  this  minute  standing  on 
my  head,"  he  declared.  "And  as  for  staying 
here,  I  can't  stay  anywhere  else.  What's  your 
name,  son?"  he  demanded,  buttonholing  in  his 
off-hand  way  the  protesting  man. 

"My  name  is  Philippi,"  answered  the  one-eyed 
defiantly. 

"Regards  to  Brutus,  my  dear  fellow,"  retorted 
140 


After  the  Storm 

Lefever,  seizing  the  man's  hand  as  if  happily 
surprised. 

"You  can't  crowd  in  here,  so  you  might  as  well 
move  on,"  declared  Philippi  gruffly.  "This  is  no 
hotel." 

Lefever  laughed.  "No  offense,  Philippi,  but 
would  it  be  indiscreet  to  ask  which  side  of  your 
face  hurts  the  most  when  you  smile?" 

"If  you've  got  no  beds,  we  won't  bother  you 
long,"  interposed  Pardaloe. 

"I'd  like  a  pitcher  of  ice-water,  anyway,"  per 
sisted  Lefever.  "Sit  down,  noble  Greek;  we'll 
talk  this  over." 

"Who  are  you  fellows?"  demanded  Philippi, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"I  am  a  prospector  from  the  Purgatoire,"  an 
swered  Pardaloe. 

Philippi  turned  his  keen  eye  on  Lefever.  "You 
a  railroad  man  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  declared  Lefever,  dusting  the  alkali 
vigorously  from  his  coat  sleeve. 

"What  are  you?" 

John  looked  as  modest  as  it  was  possible  for 
him  to  look.  "Few  people  ask  me  that,  but  in 
matter  of  fact  I  am  an  objet  d'art." 

"What's  that?" 

"Different  things  at  different  times  to  different 
men,  Philippi,"  answered  Lefever  simply,  explor- 

141 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

ing,  while  he  spoke,  different  corners  of  the  room 
with  his  flash-light.  "At  this  moment — "  he 
stopped  suddenly,  then  resumed  reassuringly — 
"I  want  a  drink." 

"Nothing  doing,"  muttered  the  landlord  sulkily. 

Lefever's  flash-light  focussed  on  a  United  States 
license  hanging  back  of  the  bar.  "Is  that  a 
mere  frame-up,  Philippi  ?"  he  demanded,  walking 
significantly  toward  the  vender's  authority. 

"Nothing  in  the  house  to-night." 

"Then,"  announced  Lefever  calmly,  "I  arrest 
you." 

Philippi  started.     "Arrest  me?" 

"For  obtaining  a  thirst  under  false  pretenses. 
Come,  now,  before  we  slip  the  irons  on,  get  us 
something  to  eat.  I'll  go  up-stairs  and  pick  out 
a  room  to  sleep  in." 

"I  tell  you,"  insisted  Philippi  profanely,  "there 
are  no  rooms  for  you  to  sleep  in  up-stairs." 

"And  I,"  retorted  Lefever,  "tell  you  there  are. 
Anyway,  I  left  a  sewing-machine  up-stairs  here 
three  years  ago,  and  promised  to  keep  it  oiled 
for  the  lady.  This  is  a  good  time  to  begin." 

With  Lefever  making  the  old  steps  creak, 
ahead,  and  Pardaloe,  with  his  long,  soft,  pigeon- 
toed  tread  close  behind,  the  unwilling  landlord 
was  taken  up  the  stairs,  and  the  two  men  thor 
oughly  searched  the  house.  Lefever  lowered  his 

142 


After  the  Storm 

voice  when  the  hunt  began  through  the  bedrooms 
— few  of  which  contained  even  a  bed — but  he 
kept  up  a  running  fire  of  talk  that  gave  Philippi 
no  respite  from  anxiety. 

Outside  the  kitchen  quarters,  which  likewise 
were  rigorously  searched,  not  a  soul  could  be 
found  in  the  house.  One  room  only,  over  the 
kitchen,  gave  hope  of  uncovering  something. 
The  party  reached  the  door  of  this  room  through 
a  narrow,  tortuous  passageway  along  an  attic 
gable.  The  door  was  locked.  Philippi  told  them 
it  belonged  to  a  sheep-herder  who  did  not  use  it 
often.  He  protested  he  had  no  key.  Pardaloe 
knocked  and,  getting  no  response,  tried  unsuc 
cessfully  to  force  the  lock.  Lefever  motioned  him 
aside  and,  after  knocking  loudly  on  the  door  him 
self,  laid  his  shoulder  against  it.  The  door 
creaked  and  sprung  in  crazy  protest.  The  panels 
cracked,  the  stubborn  frame  gave,  and  with  a 
violent  crash  Lefever  pushed  completely  through 
the  locked  barrier  and  threw  his  flash-light  inside. 
Pardaloe,  urging  the  unwilling  Philippi  ahead, 
followed. 

The  room,  unfinished  under  the  rafters,  was 
destitute  of  furnishings,  and  bore  traces  of  long 
disuse.  Stretched  on  the  floor  toward  the  middle 
of  it,  and  side  by  side,  lay  two  men.  One  of  them 
was  very  large,  the  other  not  more  than  half  his 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

companion's  size.  Lefever  kneeling  over  the  man 
nearest  the  door  listened  for  signs  of  breathing, 
and  laid  his  head  to  the  man's  heart.  Having 
completed  his  examination,  he  went  around  to 
the  other — Pardaloe  and  Philippi  silently  watch 
ing — and  looked  him  over  with  equal  care.  When 
he  had  done,  he  examined,  superficially,  the 
wounds  of  each  man.  Rising,  he  turned  toward 
Philippi.  "Were  these  men  dead  when  you 
brought  them  up  here?" 

"I  didn't  bring  'em  up,"  growled  Philippi. 

"You  know  them,  Pardaloe?"  asked  Lefever. 
Pardaloe  answered  that  he  did.  Lefever  turned 
sharply  on  Philippi.  "Where  were  you  when 
this  fight  was  going  on  ?" 

"Down  at  the  stage  barn." 

"Getting  your  alibi  ready.  But,  of  course, 
you  know  that  won't  let  you  out,  Philippi.  Your 
best  chance  is  to  tell  the  truth.  There  were  two 
others  with  this  pair — where  are  Gale  Morgan 
and  Sassoon  ?" 

"Satt  Morgan  was  here  with  hay  to-day.  He 
took  them  over  this  evening  to  Music  Mountain." 

"Where  were  they  hit?" 

"Morgan  was  hit  in  the  shoulder,  as  far  as  I 
heard.  Sassoon  was  hit  in  the  side,  and  in  the 
neck." 

"Where  is  de  Spain?" 
144 


After  the  Storm 

"Dead,  I  reckon,  by  this  time." 

"Where's  his  body?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Why  do  you  think  he  is  dead  ?" 

"Sassoon  said  he  was  hit  in  the  head." 

"Yet  he  got  away  on  horseback!" 

"I'm  telling  you  what  Sassoon  said;  I  didn't 
see  him." 

Lefever  and  Pardaloe  rode  back  to  the  stage 
barn.  "Certainly  looks  blue  for  Henry,"  mut 
tered  Lefever,  after  he  had  gone  over  with  Par 
daloe  and  McAlpin  all  of  the  scant  information 
that  could  be  gathered.  "Bob  Scott,"  he  added 
gloomily,  "may  find  him  somewhere  on  the 
Sinks." 

At  Sleepy  Cat,  Jeffries,  wild  with  impatience, 
was  on  the  telephone.  Lefever,  with  McAlpin 
and  Pardaloe  standing  at  his  side,  reported  to 
the  superintendent  all  he  could  learn.  "He  rode 
away — without  help,  of  course,"  explained  Le 
fever  to  Jeffries  in  conclusion.  "What  shape  he 
is  in,  it's  pretty  hard  to  say,  Jeffries.  Three  more 
of  the  bunch,  Vance  Morgan,  Bull  Page,  and  a 
lame  man  that  works  for  Bill  Morgan,  were  wait 
ing  in  the  saddle  at  the  head  of  the  draw  between 
the  barn  and  the  hotel  for  him  if  he  should  get 
away  from  the  inn.  Somehow,  he  went  the  other 
way  and  nobody  saw  hide  nor  hair  of  him,  so  far 

US 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

as  I  can  learn.  If  he  was  able  to  make  it,  Jeff,  he 
would  naturally  try  for  Sleepy  Cat.  But  that's  a 
pretty  fair  ride  for  a  sound  man,  let  alone  a  man 
that's  hit — and  everybody  claims  he  was  hit.  If 
he  wasn't  hit  he  should  have  been  in  Sleepy  Cat 
long  before  this.  You  say  you've  had  men  out 
across  the  river  ?" 

"Since  dark,"  responded  Jeffries.  "But,  John," 
he  asked,  "could  a  man  hit  in  the  way  de  Spain 
was  hit,  climb  into  a  saddle  and  make  a  get 
away  ?" 

"Henry  might,"  answered  Lefever  laconically. 

Scott,  with  two  men  who  had  been  helping  him, 
rode  in  at  two  o'clock  after  a  fruitless  search  to 
wait  for  light.  At  daybreak  they  picked  up  the 
trail.  Studying  carefully  the  room  in  which  the 
fight  had  taken  place,  they  followed  de  Spain's 
jump  through  the  broken  sash  into  the  patio. 
Blood  that  had  been  roughly  cleaned  up  marked 
the  spot  where  he  had  mounted  the  horse  and 
dashed  through  an  open  corral  gate  down  the 
south  trail  toward  Music  Mountain.  There  was 
speculation  as  to  why  he  should  have  chosen  a 
route  leading  directly  into  the  enemy's  country, 
but  there  was  no  gainsaying  the  trail — occasional 
flecks  of  blood  blazed  the  direction  of  the  fleeing 
hoofs,  These  led — not  as  the  trailers  hoped  they 
would,  in  a  wide  detour  across  easy-riding  coun- 

146 


After  the  Storm 

try  toward  the  north  and  the  Sleepy  Cat  stage 
road — but  farther  and  farther  south  and  west 
into  extremely  rough  country,  a  no  man's  land, 
where  there  was  no  forage,  no  water,  and  no  habi 
tation.  Not  this  alone  disquieted  his  pursuers; 
the  trail  as  they  pursued  it  showed  the  unsteady 
riding  of  a  man  badly  wounded. 

Lefever,  walking  his  horse  along  the  side  of  a 
ridge,  shook  his  head  as  he  leaned  over  the  pony's 
shoulder.  Pardaloe  and  Scott  rode  abreast  of 
him.  "It  would  take  some  hit,  Bob,  to  bring  de 
Spain  to  this  kind  of  riding." 

Beyond  the  ridge  they  found  where  he  had  dis 
mounted  for  the  first  time.  Here  Scott  picked  up 
five  empty  shells  ejected  from  de  Spain's  revolver. 
They  saw  more  than  trace  enough  of  how  he  had 
tried  to  stanch  the  persistent  flow  from  his 
wounds.  He  seemed  to  have  worked  a  long  time 
with  these  and  with  some  success,  for  his  trail 
thereafter  was  less  marked  by  blood.  It  was, 
however,  increasingly  unsteady,  and  after  a  time 
it  reached  a  condition  that  led  Scott  to  declare 
de  Spain  was  no  longer  guiding  Sassoon's  pony; 
it  was  wandering  at  will. 

Confirmation,  if  it  were  needed,  of  the  declara 
tion  could  soon  be  read  in  the  trail  by  all  of  them. 
The  horse,  unrestrained  by  its  rider,  had  come  al 
most  completely  about  and  headed  again  for 

147 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Music  Mountain.  Within  a  few  miles  of  the 
snow-covered  peak  the  hoof-prints  ran  directly 
into  the  road  from  Calabasas  to  Morgan's  Gap 
and  were  practically  lost  in  the  dust  of  the  wagon 
road. 

"Here's  a  go,"  muttered  Pardaloe  at  fault, 
after  riding  back  and  forth  for  a  mile  in  an  effort 
to  pick  the  horse  up  again. 

"Remember/'  interposed  Scott  mildly,  "he 
is  riding  Sassoon's  horse — the  brute  is  naturally 
heading  for  home." 

"Follow  him  home,  then,"  said  Lefever  un 
hesitatingly. 

Scott  looked  at  his  companion  in  surprise: 
"Near  home,  you  mean,  John,"  he  suggested  in 
offensively.  "For  three  of  us  to  ride  into  the  Gap 
this  morning  would  be  some  excitement  for  the 
Morgans.  I  don't  think  the  excitement  would 
last  long — for  us." 

The  three  were  agreed,  however,  to  follow  up 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Gap  itself  and  did  follow. 
Finding  no  trace  of  de  Spain's  movements  in  this 
quest,  they  rode  separately  in  wide  circles  to  the 
north  and  south,  but  without  picking  up  a  hoof- 
print  that  led  anywhere  or  gave  them  any  clew 
to  the  whereabouts  of  the  missing  man. 

"There  is  one  consolation,"  muttered  Lefever, 
as  they  held  to  what  each  felt  to  be  an  almost 

148 


After  the  Storm 

hopeless  search.  "As  long  as  Henry  can  stick  to  a 
saddle  he  can  shoot — and  the  Morgans  after  yes 
terday  afternoon  will  think  twice  before  they 
close  in  on  him,  if  they  find  him." 

Scott  shook  his  head:  "That  brings  us  up 
against  another  proposition,  John.  De  Spain 
hasn't  got  any  cartridges." 

Lefever  turned  sharply:  "What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"His  belt  is  in  the  barn  at  Calabasas,  hanging 
up  with  his  coat." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  before,"  de 
manded  Lefever  indignantly. 

"I've  been  hoping  all  the  time  we'd  find  Henry 
and  I  wouldn't  have  to  tell  you." 

In  spite  of  the  hope  advanced  by  Lefever  that 
de  Spain  might  by  some  chance  have  cartridges 
in  his  pocket,  Scott's  information  was  disquieting. 
However,  it  meant  for  de  Spain,  they  knew,  only 
the  greater  need  of  succor,  and  when  the  news  of 
his  plight  was  made  known  later  in  the  day  to 
Jeffries,  efforts  to  locate  him  were  redoubled. 

For  a  week  the  search  continued  day  and  night, 
but  each  day,  even  each  succeeding  hour,  re 
duced  the  expectation  of  ever  seeing  the  hunted 
man  alive.  Spies  working  at  Calabasas,  others 
sent  in  by  Jeffries  to  Music  Mountain  among  the 
Morgans,  and  men  from  Medicine  Bend  haunting 
Sleepy  Cat  could  get  no  word  of  de  Spain.  Fairly 

149 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

accurate  reports  accounted  for  Gale  Morgan, 
nursing  a  wound  at  home,  and  for  Sassoon,  badly 
wounded  and  under  cover  somewhere  in  the  Gap. 
Beyond  this,  information  halted. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  week  a  Mexican  sheep- 
herder  brought  word  in  to  Lefever  that  he  had 
seen  in  Duke  Morgan's  stable,  Sassoon's  horse — 
the  one  on  which  de  Spain  had  escaped.  He 
averred  he  had  seen  the  blood-stained  Santa  Fe 
saddle  that  had  been  taken  off  the  horse  when 
the  horse  was  found  at  daybreak  of  the  day  fol 
lowing  the  fight,  waiting  at  Sassoon's  corral  to  be 
cared  for.  There  could  be,  it  was  fairly  well  as 
certained,  no  mistake  about  the  horse:  the  man 
knew  the  animal;  but  his  information  threw  no 
light  on  the  fate  of  its  missing  rider. 

Though  Scott  had  known  first  of  de  Spain's 
helpless  condition  in  his  desperate  flight,  as  re 
garded  self-defense,  the  Indian  was  the  last  to 
abandon  hope  of  seeing  him  alive  again.  One 
night,  in  the  midst  of  a  gloomy  council  at  Jeffries's 
office,  he  was  pressed  for  an  explanation  of  his 
confidence.  It  was  always  difficult  for  Scott  to 
explain  his  reasons  for  thinking  anything.  Men 
with  the  surest  instinct  are  usually  poorest  at 
reasoning  a  conviction  out.  But,  Bob,  cross-ex 
amined  and  harried,  managed  to  give  some  ex 
planation  of  the  faith  that  was  in  him.  "In  the 

150 


After  the  Storm 

first  place,"  he  said,  "I've  ridden  a  good  deal 
with  that  man —  pretty  much  all  over  the  country 
north  of  Medicine  Bend.  He  is  as  full  of  tricks 
as  a  nut's  full  of  meat.  Henry  de  Spain  can  hide 
out  like  an  Indian  and  doctor  himself.  Then, 
again,  I  know  something  about  the  way  he  fights; 
up  here,  they  don't.  If  those  four  fellows  had 
ever  seen  him  in  action  they  never  would  have 
expected  to  get  out  of  a  room  alive,  after  a  show 
down  with  Henry  de  Spain.  As  near  as  I  can 
make  out  from  all  the  talk  that's  floating  around, 
what  fooled  them  was  seeing  him  shoot  at  a  mark 
here  one  day  in  Sleepy  Cat." 

Jeffries  didn't  interrupt,  but  he  slapped  his 
knee  sharply. 

"You  might  just  as  well  try  to  stand  on  a  box 
of  dynamite,  and  shoot  into  it,  and  expect  to  live 
to  tell  it,"  continued  Scott  mildly,  "as  to  shoot 
into  that  fellow  in  a  room  with  closed  doors  and 
expect  to  get  away  with  it.  The  only  way  the 
bunch  can  ever  kill  that  man,  without  getting 
killed  themselves,  is  to  get  him  from  behind; 
and  at  that,  John,  the  man  that  fires  the  gun," 
murmured  the  scout,  "ought  to  be  behind  a  tree. 

"You  say  he  is  hit.  I  grant  it,"  he  concluded. 
"But  I  knew  him  once  when  he  was  hit  to  lie  out 
in  the  bush  for  a  week.  He  got  cut  off  once 
from  Whispering  Smith  and  Kennedy  after  a 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

scrimmage   outside    Williams    Cache    two    years 
ago/' 

"You  don't  believe,  then,  he's  dead,  Bob?" 
demanded  Jeffries  impatiently. 

"Not  till  I  see  him  dead,"  persisted  Scott  un 
moved. 


152 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON    MUSIC    MOUNTAIN 

~T\E  SPAIN,  when  he  climbed  into  Sassoon's 
•^^  saddle,  was  losing  sight  and  consciousness. 
He  knew  he  could  no  longer  defend  himself,  and 
was  so  faint  that  only  the  determination  of  put 
ting  distance  between  him  and  any  pursuers  held 
him  to  the  horse  after  he  spurred  away.  With  the 
instinct  of  the  hunted,  he  fumbled  with  his  right 
hand  for  his  means  of  defense,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  his  revolver,  after  his  panicky  dash  for 
safety,  safe  in  its  place.  He  put  his  hand  to  his 
belt  for  fresh  cartridges.  The  belt  was  gone. 

The  discovery  sent  a  shock  through  his  failing 
faculties.  He  could  not  recollect  why  he  had  no 
belt.  Believing  his  senses  tricked  him,  he  felt 
again  and  again  for  it  before  he  would  believe  it 
was  not  buckled  somewhere  about  him.  But  it 
was  gone,  and  he  stuck  back  in  his  waistband  his 
useless  revolver.  One  hope  remained — flight,  and 
he  spurred  his  horse  cruelly. 

Blood  running  continually  into  his  eyes  from 
the  wound  in  his  head  made  him  think  his  eyes 
were  gone,  and  direction  was  a  thing  quite  beyond 

153 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

his  power  to  compass.  He  made  little  effort  to 
guide,  and  his  infuriated  horse  flew  along  as  if 
winged. 

A  warm,  sticky  feeling  in  his  right  boot  warned 
him,  when  he  tried  to  make  some  mental  inven 
tory  of  his  condition,  of  at  least  one  other  wound. 
But  he  found  he  could  inventory  nothing,  recollect 
next  to  nothing,  and  all  that  he  wanted  to  do  was 
to  escape.  More  than  once  he  tried  to  look  be 
hind,  and  he  dashed  his  hand  across  his  red 
forehead.  He  could  not  see  twenty  feet  ahead 
or  behind.  Even  when  he  hurriedly  wiped  the 
cloud  from  his  eyes  his  vision  seemed  to  have 
failed,  and  he  could  only  cling  to  his  horse  to  put 
the  miles  as  fast  as  possible  between  himself  and 
more  of  the  Morgans. 

A  perceptible  weakness  presently  forced  him 
to  realize  he  must  look  to  his  wounded  foot. 
This  he  did  without  slackening  speed.  The  sight 
of  it  and  the  feeling  inside  his  torn  and  blood- 
soaked  boot  was  not  reassuring,  but  he  rode  on, 
sparing  neither  his  horse  nor  his  exhaustion. 
It  was  only  when  spells  of  dizziness,  recurring 
with  frequency,  warned  him  he  could  not  keep 
the  saddle  much  longer,  that  he  attempted  to 
dismount  to  stanch  the  drip  of  blood  from  his 
stirrup. 

Before  he  slackened  speed  he  tried  to  look  be- 
154 


On  Music  Mountain 

hind  to  reconnoitre.  With  relief  he  perceived 
his  sight  to  be  a  trifle  better,  and  in  scanning  the 
horizon  he  could  discover  no  pursuers.  Choosing 
a  secluded  spot,  he  dismounted,  cut  open  his  boot, 
and  found  that  a  bullet,  passing  downward,  had 
torn  an  artery  under  the  arch  of  the  foot.  Mak 
ing  a  rude  tourniquet,  he  succeeded  in  checking 
pretty  well  the  spurting  flow  that  was  sapping 
his  strength.  After  he  had  adjusted  the  bandage 
he  stood  up  and  looked  at  it.  Then  he  drew  his 
revolver  again  and  broke  it.  He  found  five 
empty  shells  in  the  chambers  and  threw  them 
away.  The  last  cartridge  had  not  been  fired. 
He  could  not  even  figure  out  how  he  had  hap 
pened  to  have  six  cartridges  in  the  cylinder,  for 
he  rarely  loaded  more  than  five.  Indeed,  it  was 
his  fixed  habit — to  avoid  accidents — never  to 
carry  a  cartridge  under  the  hammer  of  his  gun — 
yet  now  there  had  been  one.  Without  trying  to 
explain  the  circumstance,  he  took  fresh  stock  of 
his  chances  and  began  to  wonder  whether  he 
might  yet  escape  and  live. 

He  climbed  again  into  the  saddle,  and,  riding 
to  a  ridge,  looked  carefully  over  the  desert.  It 
was  with  an  effort  that  he  could  steady  himself, 
and  the  extent  of  his  weakness  surprised  him. 
What  further  perplexed  him  as  he  crossed  a  long 
divide,  got  another  good  view  and  saw  no  pursuit 

155 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

threatening  in  any  direction,  was  to  identify  the 
country  he  was  in.  The  only  landmark  anywhere 
in  sight  that  he  could  recognize  was  Music  Moun 
tain.  This  now  lay  to  the  northwest,  and  he 
knew  he  must  be  a  long  way  from  any  country 
he  was  familiar  with.  But  there  was  no  gain 
saying,  even  in  his  confused  condition,  Music 
Mountain.  After  looking  at  it  a  long  time  he 
headed  with  some  hesitation  cautiously  toward  it, 
with  intent  to  intercept  the  first  trail  to  the  north 
east.  This  would  take  him  toward  Sleepy  Cat. 

As  his  eyes  continued  to  sweep  the  horizon  he 
noted  that  the  sun  was  down  and  it  was  growing 
dark.  This  brought  a  relief  and  a  difficulty.  It 
left  him  less  in  fear  of  molestation,  but  made  it 
harder  for  him  to  reach  a  known  trail.  The  horse, 
in  spite  of  the  long,  hard  ride  seemed  fresh  yet, 
and  de  Spain,  with  one  cartridge  would  still  have 
laughed  at  his  difficulties  had  he  not  realized, 
with  uneasiness,  that  his  head  was  becoming  very 
light.  Recurring  intervals  of  giddiness  fore 
shadowed  a  new  danger  in  his  uncharted  ride. 
It  became  again  a  problem  for  him  to  keep  his 
seat  in  the  saddle.  He  was  aware  at  intervals 
that  he  was  steadying  himself  like  a  drunken 
man.  His  efforts  to  guide  the  horse  only  be 
wildered  the  beast,  and  the  two  travelled  on 
maudlin  curves  and  doubled  back  on  their  track 

156 


On  Music  Mountain 

until  de  Spain  decided  that  his  sole  chance  of 
reaching  any  known  trail  was  to  let  go  and  give 
the  horse  his  head. 

A  starless  night  fell  across  the  desert.  With 
danger  of  pursuit  practically  ended,  and  only  a 
chance  encounter  to  fear,  de  Spain  tried  to  help 
himself  by  walking  the  horse  and  resting  his 
bleeding  foot  in  front  of  the  pommel,  letting  the 
pony  pick  his  way  as  he  chose.  A  period  of  un 
consciousness,  a  blank  in  de  Spain's  mind,  soon 
followed  the  slowing  up.  He  came  to  himself  as 
he  was  lurching  out  of  the  saddle.  Pulling  him 
self  together,  he  put  the  wet  foot  in  the  stirrup 
again  and  clung  to  the  pommel  with  his  hands. 
How  long  he  rode  in  this  way,  or  how  far,  he 
never  knew.  He  was  roused  to  consciousness 
by  the  unaccustomed  sound  of  running  water 
underneath  his  horse's  feet. 

It  was  pitch  dark  everywhere.  The  horse  after 
the  hard  experience  of  the  evening  was  drink 
ing  a  welcome  draft.  De  Spain  had  no  concep 
tion  of  where  he  could  be,  but  the  stream  told 
him  he  had  somehow  reached  the  range,  though 
Music  Mountain  itself  had  been  swallowed  up 
in  the  night.  A  sudden  and  uncontrollable  thirst 
seized  the  wounded  man.  He  could  hear  the  wa 
ter  falling  over  the  stones  and  climbed  slowly  and 
painfully  out  of  the  saddle  to  the  ground.  With 

157 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

the  lines  in  his  left  hand  he  crawled  toward  the 
water  and,  lying  flat  on  the  ground  beside  the 
horse,  put  his  head  down  to  drink.  The  horse, 
meantime,  satisfied,  lifted  his  head  with  a  gulp, 
rinsed  his  mouth,  and  pulled  backward.  The 
lines  slipped  from  de  Spain's  hand.  Alarmed, 
the  weakened  man  scrambled  after  them.  The 
horse,  startled,  shied,  and  before  his  rider  could 
get  to  his  feet  scampered  off  in  a  trot.  While  de 
Spain  listened  in  consternation,  the  escaped  horse, 
falling  into  an  easy  stride,  galloped  away  into  the 
night. 

Stunned  by  this  new  misfortune,  and  listening 
gloomily  to  the  retreating  hoof-beats,  de  Spain 
pondered  the  situation  in  which  the  disaster  left 
him.  It  was  the  worst  possible  blow  that  could 
have  fallen,  but  fallen  it  had,  and  he  turned  with 
such  philosophy  as  he  could  to  complete  the 
drink  of  water  that  had  probably  cost  him  his 
life.  At  least,  cold  water  never  tasted  sweeter, 
never  was  so  grateful  to  his  parched  tongue,  and 
since  the  price  of  the  draft  might  be  measured 
by  life  itself,  he  drank  extravagantly,  stopping  at 
times  to  rest  and,  after  breathing  deeply,  to  drink 
again. 

When  he  had  slaked  a  seemingly  unquench 
able  craving,  he  dashed  the  running  water,  first 
with  one  hand  and  then  the  other,  over  his  face. 

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On  Music  Mountain 

He  tried  feebly  to  wash  away  some  of  the  alkali 
that  had  crusted  over  the  wound  in  the  front  of 
his  head  and  was  stinging  and  burning  in  it. 
There  was  now  nothing  to  do  but  to  secrete  him 
self  until  daylight  and  wait  till  help  should  reach 
him — it  was  manifestly  impossible  for  him  to 
seek  it. 

Meantime,  the  little  stream  beside  him  offered 
first  aid.  He  tried  it  with  his  foot  and  found  it 
slight  and  shallow,  albeit  with  a  rocky  bed  that 
made  wading  in  his  condition  difficult.  But  he 
felt  so  much  better  he  was  able  to  attempt  this, 
and,  keeping  near  to  one  side  of  the  current,  he 
began  to  follow  it  slowly  up-stream.  The  ascent 
was  at  times  precipitous,  which  pleased  him, 
though  it  depleted  his  new  strength.  It  was  easy 
in  this  way  to  hide  his  trail,  and  the  higher  and 
faster  the  stream  took  him  into  the  mountains 
the  safer  he  would  be  from  any  Calabasas  pursu 
ers.  When  he  had  regained  a  little  strength  and 
oriented  himself,  he  could  quickly  get  down  into 
the  hills. 

Animated  by  these  thoughts,  he  held  his  way 
up-stream,  hoping  at  every  step  to  reach  the 
gorge  from  which  the  flow  issued.  He  would 
have  known  this  by  the  sound  of  the  falling  water, 
but,  weakening  soon,  he  found  he  must  abandon 
hope  of  getting  up  to  it.  However,  by  resting 

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Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

and  scrambling  up  the  rocks,  he  kept  on  longer 
than  he  would  have  believed  possible.  Encoun 
tering  at  length,  as  he  struggled  upward,  a  ledge 
and  a  clump  of  bushes,  he  crawled  weakly  on 
hands  and  knees  into  it,  too  spent  to  struggle 
farther,  stretched  himself  on  the  flattened  bram 
bles  and  sank  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

He  woke  in  broad  daylight.  Consciousness 
returned  slowly  and  he  raised  himself  with  pain 
from  his  rough  couch.  His  wounds  were  stiff, 
and  he  lay  for  a  long  time  on  his  back  looking  up 
at  the  sky.  At  length  he  dragged  himself  to  an 
open  space  near  where  he  had  slept  and  looked 
about.  He  appeared  to  be  near  the  foot  of  a 
mountain  quite  strange  to  him,  and  in  rather  an 
exposed  place.  The  shelter  that  had  served  him 
for  the  night  proved  worthless  in  daylight  and, 
following  his  strongly  developed  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,  de  Spain  started  once  more  up  the 
rocky  path  of  the  stream.  He  clambered  a  hun 
dred  feet  above  where  he  had  slept  before  he 
found  a  hiding-place.  It  was  at  the  foot  of  a  tiny 
waterfall  where  the  brook,  striking  a  ledge  of 
granite,  had  patiently  hollowed  out  a  shallow 
pool.  Beside  this  a  great  mass  of  frost-bitten 
rock  had  fallen,  and  one  of  the  bowlders  lay  tilted 
in  such  a  way  as  to  roof  in  a  sort  of  cave,  the  en- 

160 


On  Music  Mountain 

trance  to  which  was  not  higher  than  a  man's  knee. 
De  Spain  crawled  into  this  refuge.  He  conceived 
that  from  this  high,  open  ledge  he  could  show  a 
small  signal-fire  at  night,  and  if  it  were  answered 
by  his  enemies  he  had  a  semblance  of  a  retreat 
under  the  fallen  rock,  a  hunting-knife,  and  one 
lone  cartridge  to  protect  himself  with.  A  moun 
tain-lion  might  have  to  be  reckoned  with;  and  if 
a  pursuer  should  follow  him  under  the  rock  his 
only  chance  would  lie  in  getting  hold,  after  a 
fight,  of  the  man's  loaded  revolver  or  ammuni 
tion-belt.  Such  a  hope  involved  a  great  deal  of 
confidence,  but  de  Spain  was  an  optimist — most 
railroad  men  are. 

The  outlook  was,  in  truth,  not  altogether  cheer 
ful — some  would  have  called  it,  for  a  wounded 
man,  desperate — but  it  had  some  slight  consola 
tions  and  de  Spain  was  not  given  to  long-range 
forebodings.  The  rising  sun  shone  in  a  glory  of 
clearness,  and  the  cool  night  air  rolling  up  the 
mountain  was  grateful  and  refreshing.  Lying 
flat  on  the  rock,  he  stretched  his  head  forward 
and  drank  deeply  of  the  ice-cold  pool  beside 
which  he  lay.  The  violent  exertion  of  reaching 
the  height  had  started  the  ruptured  artery  anew, 
and  his  first  work  was  crudely  to  cleanse  the 
wound  and  attempt  to  rebandage  it.  He  was 
hungry,  but  for  this  there  was  only  one  allevia- 

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Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

tion — sleep — and,  carefully  effacing  all  traces  of 
his  presence  on  the  ledge,  he  crawled  into  his  rock 
retreat  and  fell  again  into  a  heavy  slumber. 

It  was  this  repose  that  proved  his  undoing. 
He  woke  to  consciousness  so  weak  he  could 
scarcely  lift  his  head.  It  was  still  day.  A  con 
suming  thirst  assailed  him,  but  he  lacked  the 
strength  to  crawl  out  of  his  cave,  and,  looking 
toward  his  bandaged  foot,  he  was  shocked  at  the 
sight  of  how  it  had  bled  while  he  slept.  When 
he  could  rally  from  his  discouragement  he  re 
wound  the  bandages  and  told  himself  what  a  fool 
he  had  been  to  drag  his  foot  up  the  rocks  before 
the  wound  had  had  any  chance  to  heal.  He  re 
solved,  despite  his  thirst,  to  lie  still  all  day  and 
give  the  artery  absolute  quiet.  It  required  only  a 
little  stoicism;  the  stake  was  life. 

Toward  afternoon  his  restlessness  increased, 
but  he  clung  to  his  resolve  to  lie  still.  By  evening 
he  was  burning  with  thirst,  and  when  morning 
came  after  a  feverish  night,  with  his  head  on  fire 
and  his  mouth  crusted  dry,  he  concluded  rightly 
that  one  or  both  of  his  wounds  had  become  in 
fected. 

De  Spain  understood  what  it  meant.  He 
looked  regretfully  at  the  injured  foot.  Swollen 
out  of  shape  and  angry-looking,  the  mere  appear 
ance  would  have  told  him,  had  the  confirmation 

162 


On  Music  Mountain 

been  needed,  that  his  situation  was  becoming 
critical.  This  did  not  so  much  disconcert  him  as 
it  surprised  him  and  spurred  him  mentally  to  the 
necessity  of  new  measures.  He  lay  a  long  time 
thinking.  Against  the  infection  he  could  do  little. 
But  the  one  aid  at  his  hand  was  abundance  of 
cold  water  to  drink  and  bathe  his  wound  in,  and 
to  this  he  resolved  now  to  drag  himself.  To  crawl 
across  the  space  that  separated  him  from  the 
pool  required  all  the  strength  he  could  summon. 
The  sun  \vas  already  well  up  and  its  rays  shot  like 
spectrum  arrows  through  the  spray  of  the  dainty 
cataract,  wrhich  spurted  in  a  jewelled  sheet  over  a 
rocky  ledge  twenty  feet  above  and  poured  noisily 
down  from  the  broad  pool  along  jagged  bowlders 
below. 

Crawling,  choking  with  thirst,  slowly  forward, 
he  reached  the  water,  and,  reclining  on  his  side 
and  one  elbow,  he  was  about  to  lean  down  to 
drink  when  he  suddenly  felt,  with  some  kind  of 
an  instinctive  shock,  that  he  was  no  longer  alone 
on  the  ledge.  He  had  no  interest  in  analyzing 
the  conviction;  he  did  not  even  question  it. 
Not  a  sound  had  reached  his  ears.  Only  a  mo 
ment  before  he  had  looked  carefully  all  around. 
But  the  field  of  his  vision  was  closely  circum 
scribed  by  the  walls  about  him.  It  was  easy  for 
an  invader  to  come  on  his  retreat  unawares — at 

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Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

all  events,  somebody,  he  was  almost  sure,  stood 
behind  him.  The  silence  meant  an  enemy.  The 
first  thing  to  expect  was  a  bullet.  It  would  prob 
ably  be  aimed  at  the  back  of  his  head.  At  least 
he  knew  this  was  the  spot  to  aim  for  to  kill  a 
man  instantly  and  painlessly — yet  he  shrank 
from  that  anticipated  crash. 

And  it  was  this  thought  that  cost  the  defense 
less  man  at  the  moment  the  most  pain — that 
feeling,  in  advance,  of  the  blow  of  the  bullet  that 
should  snufF  out  his  life.  Defense  was  out  of 
the  question;  he  was  as  helpless  as  a  baby.  An 
impulse  in  his  fingers  to  clutch  his  revolver  he 
restrained  at  once — it  could  only  hasten  his  death. 
He  wondered,  as  the  seconds  passed,  why  his 
executioner  hesitated  to  shoot,  but  he  could  not 
rid  himself  of  the  mental  horror  of  being  shot  in 
the  base  of  the  brain.  Anywhere  else  he  would 
have  almost  welcomed  a  bullet;  anywhere  else 
it  might  have  given  him  one  chance  for  life 
through  rolling  over  after  he  was  struck  in  an 
attempt  to  kill  his  assailant. 

His  thoughts,  working  in  flashes  of  lightning, 
suggested  every  possible  trick  of  escape,  and  as 
rapidly  rejected  each.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  play  the  part,  to  take  the  blow  with  no 
more  than  a  quiver  when  it  came.  He  had  once 
seen  a  man  shot  in  just  that  way.  Braced  to 

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On  Music  Mountain 

such  a  determination,  de  Spain  bent  slowly  down 
ward,  and,  with  eyes  staring  into  the  water  for  a 
reflection  that  might  afford  a  glimpse  of  his  en 
emy,  he  began  to  drink.  A  splash  above  his  head 
frightened  him  almost  to  death.  It  was  a  water- 
ousel  dashing  into  the  foaming  cataract  and  out 
again,  and  the  spray  falling  from  the  sudden 
bath  wrecked  the  mirror  of  the  pool.  De  Spain 
nearly  choked.  Each  mouthful  of  water  was  a 
struggle.  The  sense  of  impending  death  had 
robbed  even  the  life-giving  drafts  of  their  tonic; 
each  instant  carried  its  acute  sensation  of  be 
ing  the  last.  At  length,  his  nerves  weakened  by 
hunger  and  exposure,  revolted  under  the  strain. 
Suppose  it  should  be,  after  all,  a  fantasy  of  his 
fever  that  pictured  so  vividly  an  enemy  behind. 
With  an  effort  that  cost  more  mental  torture 
than  he  ever  had  known,  he  drew  back  on  his 
elbow  from  the  pool,  steadied  himself,  turned  his 
head  to  face  his  executioner,  and  confronted 
Nan  Morgan. 


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CHAPTER  XIII 

PARLEY 

OHE  stood  beside  the  rock  from  which  the 
ledge  was  reached  from  below,  and  as  if  she 
had  just  stepped  up  into  sight.  Her  rifle  was  so 
held  in  both  hands  that  it  could  be  fired  from 
her  hip,  and  at  such  close  quarters  with  deadly 
accuracy.  As  she  stood  with  startled  eyes  fixed 
on  his  haggard  face,  her  slender  neck  and  poised 
head  were  very  familiar  to  de  Spain. 

And  her  expression,  while  it  reflected  her  hor 
rified  alarm,  did  not  conceal  her  anger  and  aver 
sion  at  the  sight  of  him.  Unaware  of  the  for 
bidding  spectacle  he  presented,  de  Spain,  swept 
by  a  brainstorm  at  the  appearance  of  this  Morgan 
— the  only  one  of  all  the  Morgans  he  had  not 
fancied  covering  him  and  waiting  to  deliver  his 
death-warrant — felt  a  fury  sweep  over  him  at 
the  thought  of  being  shot  by  a  woman.  The 
wild  idea  that  she  meant  to  kill  him,  which 
in  a  rational  moment  would  never  have  entered 
his  mind,  now  in  his  delirium  completely  obsessed 
him.  Working,  as  it  were,  mechanically,  even 
the  instinct  of  self-defense  asserted  itself  against 

166 


Parley 

her.  But  enough  of  reason  remained  in  his  dis 
ordered  senses  to  tell  him  that  self-defense  was 
out  of  the  question.  Whatever  she  meant  to 
do,  he  could  no  more  fire  at  this  girl,  even  had 
he  a  chance — and  he  realized  he  was  at  her  mercy 
— than  he  could  at  his  sister;  and  he  lay  with  his 
eyes  bent  on  hers,  trying  to  read  her  purpose. 

She  stood  guarded,  but  motionless  with  sur 
prise.  De  Spain  turned  himself  slowly  and,  sit 
ting  up,  waited  for  her  to  speak.  There  was  little 
to  hope  for,  he  thought,  in  her  expression.  And 
all  of  his  duplicity  seemed  to  desert  him  before 
her  cold  resolution.  The  tricks  he  would  have 
tried,  at  bay  before  a  man,  he  felt  no  inclination 
to  attempt.  He  read  in  her  set  face  only  abhor 
rence  and  condemnation,  and  felt  in  no  way 
moved  to  argue  her  verdict.  "I  suppose,"  he 
said,  at  length,  not  trying  to  disguise  his  bitter 
resentment  of  her  presence,  "you've  come  to 
finish  me." 

His  shirt  stained  and  tattered  for  bandages,  his 
hair  matted  in  blood  on  his  forehead,  his  eyes  in 
flamed  and  sunken,  his  lips  crusted  and  swollen, 
the  birthmark  fastened  vividly  on  his  cheek  made 
him  a  desperate  sight.  Regarding  him  steadily, 
Nan,  as  bewildered  as  if  she  had  suddenly  come 
on  a  great  wounded  beast  of  prey  still  dangerous, 
made  no  response  to  his  words.  The  two  stared 

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Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

at  each  other  defiantly  and  for  another  moment 
in  silence.  "If  you  are  going  to  kill  me,"  he  con 
tinued,  looking  into  her  eyes  without  any  thought 
of  appeal,  "do  it  quick." 

Something  in  his  long,  unyielding  gaze  impelled 
her  to  break  the  spell  of  it.  "What  are  you  doing 
here?"  she  demanded  with  anger,  curbing  her 
voice  to  control  her  excitement  as  best  she  could. 

De  Spain,  still  looking  at  her,  answered  only 
after  a  pause.  "Hiding,"  he  said  harshly. 

"Hiding  to  kill  other  men  !"  Nan's  accusation 
as  she  clutched  her  rifle  was  almost  explosive. 

He  regarded  her  coolly,  and  with  the  interval 
he  had  had  for  thinking,  his  wits  were  clearing. 
"Do  I  look  like  a  man  hunting  for  a  fight  ?  Or," 
he  added,  since  she  made  no  answer,  "like  a  man 
hunting  for  a  quiet  spot  to  die  in  ?  How,"  he 
went  on  slowly,  delirium  giving  place  to  indigna 
tion,  "can  you  say  I'm  hiding  here  to  kill  other 
men  ?  That's  what  your  people  tell  you,  is  it  ?" 

"I  know  you  are  a  murderer." 

In  spite  of  his  weakness  he  flushed.  "No,"  he 
exclaimed  sharply,  "I'm  not  a  murderer.  If  you 
think  it" — he  pointed  contemptuously  to  her 
side — "you  have  your  rifle — use  it!" 

"My  rifle  is  to  defend  myself  with.  I  am  not 
a  public  executioner,"  she  answered  scornfully. 

"You  need  no  rifle  to  defend  yourself  from  me 
1 68 


Parley 

— though  I  am  a  murderer.  And  if  you're  not 
a  public  executioner,  leave  me — I'm  dying  fast 
enough." 

"You  came  here  to  hide  to  kill  somebody!" 
she  exclaimed,  as  if  the  thought  were  a  sudden 
explanation. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'here'  ?  I  might  bet 
ter  ask  why  you  came  here,"  he  retorted.  "I 
don't  know  where  I  am.  Do  I  look  as  if  I  came 
here  by  choice?"  He  paused.  "Listen,"  he 
said,  quite  master  of  himself,  "I'll  tell  you  why 
I  came.  I  shall  never  get  away  alive,  anyway — 
you  can  have  the  truth  if  you  want  it.  I  got  off 
my  horse  in  the  night  to  get  a  drink.  He  bolted. 
I  couldn't  walk.  I  climbed  up  here  to  hide  till 
my  wounds  heal.  Now,  I've  told  you  the  truth. 
Where  am  I?" 

The  grip  of  her  hands  on  the  rifle  might  have 
relaxed  somewhat,  but  she  saw  his  deadly  revolver 
in  its  accustomed  place  and  did  not  mean  to 
surrender  her  command  of  him.  Nor  would  she 
tell  him  where  he  was.  She  parried  his  questions. 
He  could  get  no  information  of  any  sort  out  of 
her.  Yet  he  saw  that  something  more  than  his 
mere  presence  detained  and  perplexed  her.  Her 
prompt  condemnation  of  him  rankled  in  his  mind, 
and  the  strain  of  facing  her  suspicion  wore  on 
him.  "I  won't  ask  you  anything  more,"  he  said 

169 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

at  length.  "You  do  right  to  give  me  no  informa 
tion.  It  might  help  me  save  my  life.  I  can't 
talk  any  longer.  You  know  you  think  I've  no 
right  to  live — that's  what  you  think,  isn't  it  ? 
Why  don't  you  shoot  ?"  She  only  stared  at  him. 
"Why  don't  you  answer?"  he  demanded  reck 
lessly. 

Nan  summoned  her  resolution.  "I  know  you 
tried  to  kill  my  cousin,"  she  said  hotly,  after  he 
had  taunted  her  once  more.  "And  I  don't  know 
you  won't  try  it  again  as  soon  as  you  are  able. 
And  I  am  going  to  think  what  to  do  before  I 
tell  you  anything  or  do  anything." 

"You  know  I  tried  to  kill  your  cousin !  You 
know  nothing  of  the  kind.  Your  cousin  tried  to 
kill  me.  He's  a  bully  and  a  coward,  a  man  that 
doesn't  know  what  fair  fighting  means.  Tell 
him  that  for  me." 

"You  are  safe  in  abusing  him  when  he's  not 
here." 

"  Send  him  to  me  !  This  is  no  place  for  a  woman 
that  calls  me  what  you  call  me — send  your  cousin 
and  all  his  friends  !"  His  voice  shook  with  anger. 
"Tell  him  I'm  wounded;  tell  him  I've  had  noth 
ing  to  eat  since  I  fought  him  before.  And  if  he's 
still  afraid" — de  Spain  drew  and  broke  his  re 
volver  almost  like  a  flash.  In  that  incredibly 
quick  instant  she  realized  he  might  have  threat- 

170 


Parley 

ened  her  life  before  she  could  move  a  muscle 
— "tell  your  fine  cousin  I've  got  one  cartridge 
left — just  one!"  So  saying,  he  held  in  one  hand 
the  loaded  cartridge  and  in  the  other  the  empty 
revolver. 

"You  think  little  of  bloodshed,  I  know,"  she 
returned  unpleasantly. 

"I  think  a  whole  lot,"  he  drawled  in  painful 
retort,  "of  fair  fighting." 

"And  I'm  a  woman — you  do  well  to  taunt  me 
with  that." 

"I  did  not  taunt  you  with  it.  You  are  hate 
fully  unjust,"  he  protested  sullenly. 

"You've  asked  me  to  go — I'm  going.  How 
much  of  what  you  tell  me  is  true,  I  don't  know. 
But  I  can  believe  my  own  eyes,  and  I  believe  you 
are  not  in  condition  to  do  much  injury,  even  if 
you  came  here  with  that  intention.  You  will 
certainly  lose  your  life  if  you  move  from  your 
hiding-place." 

She  started  away.  He  leaned  toward  her. 
"Stop,"  he  said  peremptorily,  raising  himself 
with  a  wrenching  effort.  Something  in  the  stern 
eye  held  her.  His  extended  hand  pointed  toward 
her  as  arbitrarily  as  if,  instead  of  lying  helpless 
at  her  feet,  he  could  command  her  to  his  bidding. 
"I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  I've  told  you  the 
truth.  I  have  just  one  cartridge.  If  you  are 

171 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

going  to  send  your  cousin  and  his  men  here,  it's 
only  fair  I  should  know  it  now — isn't  it  ?" 

Her  face  was  hard  in  spite  of  the  weakness  he 
struggled  to  conceal.  It  annoyed  her  to  think 
he  had  surmised  she  was  revolving  in  her  mind 
what  to  do.  He  was  demanding  an  answer  she 
had  not  yet  given  to  herself. 

"My  cousin  is  wounded,"  she  said,  pausing. 
And  then  with  indecision:  "If  you  stay  here 
quietly  you  are  not  likely  to  be  molested." 

She  stepped  down  from  the  ledge  as  noiselessly 
as  she  had  come.  Shaken  by  the  discovery  she 
had  so  unexpectedly  made,  Nan  retreated  almost 
precipitately  from  the  spot.  And  the  question 
of  what  to  do  worried  her  as  much  as  it  worried 
de  Spain.  The  whole  range  had  been  shaken  by 
the  Calabasas  fight.  Even  in  a  country  where 
appeal  to  arms  was  common,  where  men  were 
ready  to  snuff  out  a  life  for  a  word,  or  kill  for  a 
mess  of  pottage — to  settle  for  the  least  grave  of 
fense  a  dispute  with  a  shot — the  story  of  the  sur 
prising,  unequal,  and  fatal  encounter  of  the  Cala 
basas  men  with  de  Spain,  and  of  his  complete 
disappearance  after  withstanding  almost  unheard- 
of  odds,  was  more  than  a  three  days'  wonder; 
nothing  else  was  talked  of  for  weeks.  Even  the 
men  in  Morgan's  Gap,  supposed  to  be  past  masters 
of  the  game  played  in  the  closed  room  at  Cala- 

172 


Parley 

basas,  had  been  stunned  by  the  issue  of  the  few 
minutes  with  Jeffries's  new  man. 

Nan,  who  had  heard  but  one  side  of  the  story, 
pictured  the  aggressor  from  the  tale  of  the  two 
who  lived  to  tell  of  the  horribly  sharp  action 
with  him.  Morning,  noon,  and  night  she  had 
heard  nothing  but  the  fight  at  Calabasas  dis 
cussed  by  the  men  that  rode  in  and  out  of  the 
Gap — and  in  connection  with  it,  de  Spain's  un 
explained  flight  and  disappearance.  Those  that 
knew  the  real  story  of  the  conspiracy  to  kill  him 
did  not  talk  much,  after  the  disastrous  outcome, 
of  that  part  of  the  affair.  But  Nan's  common 
sense  whispered  to  her,  whatever  might  be  said 
about  de  Spain's  starting  the  fight,  that  one  man 
locked  in  a  room  with  four  enemies,  all  dangerous 
in  an  affray,  was  not  likely  to  begin  a  fight  unless 
forced  to — none,  at  least,  but  a  madman  would 
do  so.  She  had  heard  stories,  too,  of  de  Spain's 
drinking  and  quarrelling,  but  none  that  told 
them  had  ever  seen  him  under  the  influence  of 
drink  or  had  had  a  quarrel  with  him  except  Gale 
and  Sassoon — and  these  two  were  extremely 
quarrelsome. 

Unhappy  and  irresolute,  Nan,  when  she  got 
home,  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  ride  to  Calabasas 
for  a  packet  of  dressings  coming  by  stage  from 
Sleepy  Cat  for  Gale,  who  lay  wounded  at  Satt 

173 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Morgan's;  and,  eating  a  hasty  luncheon,  she  or 
dered  her  horse  and  set  out. 

Should  she  tell  her  Uncle  Duke  of  finding  de 
Spain?  Whenever  she  decided  that  she  must, 
something  in  the  recollection  of  de  Spain's  condi 
tion  unsettled  her  resolution.  Tales  enough  of  his 
bloodthirstiness,  his  merciless  efficiency,  his  ever- 
ready  craft  and  consummate  duplicity  were  fa 
miliar  to  her — most  of  them  made  so  within  the 
last  three  days — for  no  one  in  her  circle  any 
longer  professed  to  underrate  the  demonstrated 
resourcefulness  of  the  man. 

Yet  only  a  few  of  these  stories  appealed  to  Nan's 
innate  convictions  of  truth  and  justice.  She 
lived  among  men  who  were,  for  the  most  part, 
not  truthful  or  dependable  even  in  small  things 
—how  could  they  be  relied  on  to  tell  the  truth 
about  de  Spain's  motives  and  conduct  ?  As  to 
his  deadly  skill  with  arms,  no  stories  were  needed 
to  confirm  this,  even  though  she  herself  had  once 
overcome  him  in  a  contest.  The  evidence  of 
this  mastery  had  now  a  fatal  pre-eminence  among 
the  tragedies  of  the  Spanish  Sinks.  Where  he 
lay  he  could,  if  he  meditated  revenge  on  her 
people,  murder  any  of  them,  almost  at  will.  To 
spare  his  life  imperilled  to  this  extent  theirs — 
but  surely  he  lay  not  far  from  death  by  exhaus 
tion.  Weighed  against  all  she  had  ever  listened 

174 


Parley 

to  concerning  his  deceit  was  the  evidence  of  her 
own  sight.  She  had  seen  men  desperately  ill, 
and  men  desperately  stricken.  This  man  was 
either  both  or  she  could  never  again  believe  her 
senses.  And  if  he  was  not  helped  soon  he  would 
die. 

But  who  was  to  help  him  ?  Certainly  none  of 
his  friends  could  know  where  he  was  hidden  or 
of  his  plight — no  help  could  come  from  them  un 
less  she  told  them.  If  she  told  them  they  would 
try  to  reach  him.  That  would  mean  an  ap 
palling — an  unthinkable — fight.  If  she  told  her 
uncle,  could  she  keep  him  from  killing  de  Spain  ? 
She  believed  not.  He  might  promise  to  let  him 
go.  But  she  knew  her  uncle's  ferocious  resent 
ment,  and  how  easy  it  would  be  for  him  to  give 
her  fine  words  and,  in  spite  of  them,  for  de  Spain 
to  be  found  dead  some  morning  where  he  lay — 
there  were  plenty  of  men  available  for  jobs  such 
as  that. 

All  came  back  to  one  terrifying  alternative: 
Should  she  help  this  wretched  man  herself  ?  And 
if  he  lived,  would  he  repay  her  by  shooting  some 
one  of  her  own  kin  ? 

The  long  ride  to  Calabasas  went  fast  as  the 
debate  swept  on,  and  the  vivid  shock  of  her 
strange  experience  recurred  to  her  imagination. 

She  drew  up  before  the  big  barn.  Jim  McAlpin 
175 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

was  coming  out  to  go  to  supper.  Nan  asked  for  her 
package  and  wanted  to  start  directly  back  again. 
McAlpin  refused  absolutely  to  hear  of  it.  He 
looked  at  her  horse  and  professed  to  be  shocked. 
He  told  her  she  had  ridden  hard,  urged  her  to 
dismount,  and  sent  her  pony  in  to  be  rubbed, 
assuring  Nan  heartily  there  was  not  a  man,  out 
side  the  hostlers,  within  ten  miles.  While  her 
horse  was  cared  for,  McAlpin  asked,  in  his  harm 
less  Scotch  way,  about  Gale. 

Concerning  Gale,  Nan  was  non-committal.  But 
she  listened  with  interest,  more  or  less  veiled,  to 
whatever  running  comment  McAlpin  had  to  offer 
concerning  the  Calabasas  fight.  "And  I  was 
sorry  to  see  Gale  mixed  up  in  it,"  he  concluded, 
in  his  effort  to  draw  Nan  out,  "sorry.  And  sorrier 
to  think  of  Henry  de  Spain  getting  killed  that 
way.  Why,  I  knowed  Henry  de  Spain  when  he 
was  a  baby  in  arms."  He  put  out  his  hand  can- 
nily.  "I  worked  for  his  father  before  he  was 
born."  His  listener  remained  obdurate.  There 
was  nothing  for  it  except  further  probing,  to  which, 
however,  Jim  felt  abundantly  equal.  "Some  say," 
he  suggested,  looking  significantly  toward  the 
door  of  the  barn,  and  significantly  away  again, 
"that  Henry  went  down  there  to  pick  a  fight 
with  the  boys.  But,"  he  asserted  cryptically, 
"I  happen  to  know  that  wasn't  so." 

176 


Parley 

"Then  what  did  he  go  down  there  for?"  de 
manded  Nan  indignantly,  but  not  warily. 

McAlpin,  the  situation  now  in  hand,  took  his 
time  to  it.  He  leaned  forward  in  a  manner  cal 
culated  to  invite  confidence  without  giving  offense. 
"Miss  Nan,"  said  he  simply,  "I  worked  for  your 
Uncle  Duke  for  five  years — you  know  that." 
Nan  had,  at  least,  heard  it  fifty  times.  "I  think 
a  good  deal  of  him — I  think  a  good  deal  of  you, 
so  does  the  missus,  so  does  little  Loretta — she's 
always  asking  about  you,  the  child  is — and  I 
hear  and  see  a  good  deal  here  that  other  people 
don't  get  next  to — they  can't.  Now  Henry  de 
Spain  was  here,  with  me,  sitting  right  there  where 
you  are  sitting,  Miss  Nan,  in  that  chair,"  declared 
McAlpin  with  an  unanswerable  finger,  "not  fifteen 
minutes  before  that  fight  began,  he  was  there.  I 
told  you  he  never  went  down  there  to  fight.  Do 
you  want  the  proof?  I'll  tell  you — I  wouldn't 
want  anybody  else  to  know — will  you  keep  it?" 

Nan  seemed  indifferent.  "Girls  are  not  sup 
posed  to  keep  secrets,"  she  said  obstinately. 

Her  narrator  was  not  to  be  balked.  He  pointed 
to  the  coat-rack  on  the  wall  in  front  of  them  both. 
"There  is  Henry  de  Spain's  coat.  He  hung  it 
there  just  before  he  went  down  to  the  inn.  Under 
it,  if  you  look,  you'll  find  his  belt  of  cartridges. 
Don't  take  my  word — look  for  yourself." 

177 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Giving  this  information  time  to  sink  in,  Mc- 
Alpin  continued.  Nan's  eyes  had  turned,  de 
spite  her  indifference,  to  the  coat;  but  she  was 
thinking  more  intently  about  the  belt  which 
McAlpin  asserted  hung  under  it.  "You  want  to 
know  what  he  did  go  down  to  the  hotel  for  that 
afternoon  ?  I  happen  to  know  that,  too,"  averred 
McAlpin,  sitting  down,  but  respectfully,  on  the 
edge  of  the  chair.  " First  I  want  to  say  this:  I 
worked  for  your  Uncle  Duke  five  years." 

He  paused  to  give  Nan  a  chance  to  dispute 
the  statement  if  she  so  desired.  Then  taking  her 
despairing  silence  as  an  indorsement  of  his  posi 
tion  in  giving  her  a  confidence,  he  went  on: 
"Henry  de  Spain  is  dead,"  he  said  quietly.  She 
eyed  him  without  so  much  as  winking.  "I 
wouldn't  tell  it  if  he  wasn't.  Some  of  the  boys 
don't  believe  he  is.  I'm  not  a  pessimist — not  a 
bit — but  I'm  telling  you  it's  a  physical  impossi 
bility  for  a  man  to  take  the  fire  of  four  revolvers 
in  the  hands  of  four  men  like  those  four  men,  at 
arm's  length,  and  live.  Henry  de  Spain  is  the 
cleverest  man  with  a  gun  that  ever  rode  the 
Spanish  Sinks,  but  limits  is  limits;  the  boy's 
dead.  And  he  was  always  talking  about  you. 
It's  God's  truth,  and  since  he's  dead  it  harms 
no  one  to  tell  it  to  you,  though  I'd  never  breathe 
it  to  another.  He  was  fairly  gone  on  you.  Now 

178  ' 


Parley 

that's  the  fair  truth:  the  man  was  gone  on  you. 
I  knowed  it,  where  others  didn't  know  it.  I  was 
the  only  one  he  could  always  ask  about  whether 
you'd  been  here,  and  when;  and  when  you  might 
be  expected  coming  again — and  all  such  things 
like  that. 

"You  don't  have  to  knock  me  down,  Miss 
Nan,  to  put  me  wise  about  a  man's  being  keen 
on  a  girl.  I'm  a  married  man,"  declared  McAl- 
pin  with  modest  pride.  "He  thought  all  the 
time  he  was  fooling  me,  and  keeping  covered. 
Why,  I  laughed  to  myself  at  his  tricks  to  get  in 
formation  without  letting  on !  Now,  that  after 
noon  he  came  in  here  kind  of  moody.  It  was  an 
anniversary  for  him,  and  a  hard  one — the  day  his 
father  was  shot  from  ambush — a  good  many 
years  ago,  but  nary  one  of  us  had  forgot  it.  Then 
he  happened  to  see  your  pony — this  same  pony 
you're  riding  to-day — a-standing  back  there  in 
the  box-stall.  He  asked  me  whose  it  was;  and 
he  asked  me  about  you,  and,  by  jinx !  the  way  he 
perked  up  when  I  told  him  you  were  coming  in 
on  the  stage  that  afternoon !  When  he  heard 
you'd  been  sick,  he  was  for  going  down  to  the 
hotel  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee — for  you  !"  McAlpin, 
like  any  good  story-teller,  was  already  on  his  feet 
again.  "He  did  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  you 
know  what  he  got  when  he  stepped  into  the  bar- 

179 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

room."  He  took  hold  of  de  Spain's  coat  and 
held  it  aside  to  enter  his  exhibit.  "There,"  he 
concluded,  "is  his  cartridge-belt,  hanging  there 
yet.  The  boy  is  dead — why  shouldn't  I  tell  you  ?" 

Nan  rode  home  much  more  excited,  more  be 
wildered  than  when  she  had  ridden  over.  What 
should  she  do  ?  It  was  already  pretty  clear  to 
her  that  de  Spain  had  not  ridden  unarmed  to 
where  she  found  him  to  ambush  any  of  the  Mor 
gans.  He  was  not  dead;  but  he  was  not  far  from 
it  if  McAlpin  was  right  and  if  she  could  credit 
her  own  senses  in  looking  at  him.  What  ought 
she  to  do  ? 

Other  things  McAlpin  had  said  crowded  her 
thoughts.  Strangest  shock  of  all  that  this  man 
of  all  other  men  should  profess  to  care  for  her. 
She  had  shown  anger  when  McAlpin  dared  speak 
of  it;  at  least,  she  thought  she  had.  And  she 
still  did  not  know  how,  sufficiently,  to  resent 
the  thought  of  such  audacity  on  de  Spain's  part; 
but  recalling  all  she  could  of  his  words  and  ac 
tions,  she  was  forced  to  confess  to  herself  that 
McAlpin's  assertions  were  confirmed  in  them — 
and  that  what  McAlpin  had  said  interpreted  de 
Spain's  unvarying  attitude  toward  her.  This 
was,  to  say  the  least,  a  further  awkward  compli 
cation  for  her  feelings.  She  already  had  enough 
to  confuse  them. 

1 80 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NAN   DRIFTS 

^ITTTTHOUT  going  in  to  speak  to  Gale,  whom 
Bull  Page,  his  nurse,  reported  very  cross 
but  not  hurt  much,  Nan  left  her  packet  for  him 
and  rode  home.  Her  uncle  Duke  was  in  town. 
She  had  the  house  to  herself,  with  only  Bonita, 
the  old  Mexican  serving-woman,  and  Nan  ate  her 
late  supper  alone. 

The  longer  she  pondered  on  de  Spain  and  his 
dilemma — and  her  own — the  more  she  worried. 
When  she  went  to  bed,  up-stairs  in  her  little  gable 
room,  she  thought  sleep — never  hard  for  her  to 
woo — would  relieve  her  of  her  anxiety  for  at 
least  the  night.  But  she  waited  in  vain  for 
sleep.  She  was  continually  asking  herself  whether 
de  Spain  was  really  very  badly  hurt,  or  whether 
he  might  be  only  tricking  her  into  thinking  he 
was.  Assailed  by  conflicting  doubts,  she  tossed 
on  her  pillow  till  a  resolve  seized  her  to  go  up 
again  to  his  hiding-place  and  see  what  she  could 
see  or  hear — possibly,  if  one  were  on  foot,  she 
could  uncover  a  plot. 

She  dressed  resolutely,  buckled  a  holster  to 
181 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

her  side,  and  slipping  a  revolver — a  new  one  that 
Gale  had  given  her — into  it  for  protection,  she 
walked  softly  down-stairs  and  out  of  doors. 

The  night  air  was  clear  with  a  three-quarter 
moon  well  up  in  the  sky.  She  took  her  way 
rapidly  along  the  trail  to  the  mountain,  keeping 
as  much  as  possible  within  the  great  shadows 
cast  by  the  towering  peaks.  Not  a  sound  met 
her  acute  listening  as  she  pressed  on — not  a  living 
thing  seemed  to  move  anywhere  in  the  whole 
great  Gap,  except  this  slender-footed,  keen-eyed 
girl,  whose  heart  beat  with  apprehension  of  wiles, 
stratagems,  and  ambush  concerning  the  venture 
she  was  making. 

Breathing  stealthily  and  keyed  to  a  tense  feel 
ing  of  uncertainty  and  suspicion,  Nan  at  length 
found  herself  below  the  ledge  where  de  Spain 
was  in  hiding.  She  stopped  and,  with  the  craft 
of  an  Indian,  stood  perfectly  still  for  a  very  long 
time  before  she  began  to  climb  up  to  where  the 
enemy  lay.  Hearing  no  sound,  she  took  courage 
and  made  the  ascent.  She  reached  without  ad 
venture  the  corner  of  the  ledge  where  she  had 
first  seen  him,  and  there,  lying  flat,  listened  again. 

Hearing  only  the  music  of  the  little  cascade, 
she  swept  the  ledge  as  well  as  she  could  with  her 
eyes,  but  it  was  now  so  far  in  shadow  as  to  lie  in 
impenetrable  darkness.  Hardly  daring  to  breathe, 

182 


Nan  Drifts 

she  crept  and  felt  her  way  over  it  with  her  hands, 
discovering  nothing  until  she  had  almost  reached 
de  Spam's  retreat  at  the  farther  side.  Then  her 
heart  stopped  in  an  agony  of  fear — underneath 
the  overhanging  wall  she  heard  voices. 

To  attempt  to  escape  was  as  dangerous  as  to 
lie  still.  Had  she  dared,  she  would  have  retreated 
at  once  the  way  she  came.  Since  she  dared  not, 
she  was  compelled  to  hear  what  was  said,  and, 
indeed,  was  eager  to  hear.  De  Spain  had  con 
federates,  then,  and  had  tricked  her,  after  all. 
Whatever  his  plot,  she  was  resolved  to  know  it, 
and  instead  of  retreating  she  took  her  revolver 
in  hand  and  drew  herself  nearer.  When  she 
had  gained  her  new  position  the  mutterings, 
which  had  been  indistinct,  became  audible.  It 
was  not  two  voices  she  had  heard,  but  one — de 
Spain,  she  judged,  was  talking  in  his  sleep. 

But  a  moment  later  this  explanation  failed 
to  satisfy  her.  The  mutterings  were  too  con 
stant  and  too  disconnected  to  be  mistaken  for 
sleep-talking — it  dawned  on  Nan  that  this  must 
be  delirium.  She  could  hear  de  Spain  throwing 
himself  from  side  to  side,  and  the  near  and  far 
sounds,  as  if  of  two  voices,  were  explained.  It 
was  possible  now  for  her  to  tell  herself  she  was 
mistress  of  the  situation.  She  crept  nearer. 

He  was  babbling  in  the  chill  darkness  about 
183 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

ammunition,  urging  men  to  make  haste,  warning 
them  of  some  one  coming.  He  turned  on  the 
rock  floor  ceaselessly,  sometimes  toward  her, 
sometimes  from  her,  muttering  of  horses,  water, 
passengers,  wheels,  wrecks.  He  made  broken 
appeals  to  be  chopped  out,  directed  men  where 
to  use  their  axes.  Nan  listened  to  his  ravings, 
overcome  by  the  revelation  of  his  condition. 
Once  her  uncle  had  lain  sick  of  a  fever  and  had 
been  delirious;  but  that,  her  sole  experience,  was 
nothing  to  this.  Once  de  Spain  threw  out  a 
groping  hand  and,  before  she  could  escape,  caught 
her  skirt.  Nan  tried  to  pull  away.  His  grip 
did  not  loosen.  She  took  his  hand  in  hers  and, 
while  he  muttered  meaningless  words,  forced  his 
fingers  open  and  drew  away.  His  hand  was  dry 
and  burning  hot. 

She  told  herself  he  must  die  if  he  remained 
longer  unaided,  and  there  were  unpleasant  possi 
bilities,  if  he  died  where  he  lay.  Such  a  death, 
so  close  to  her  own  home  might,  if  it  were  ever 
known,  throw  suspicion  on  her  uncle  and  arouse 
the  deeper  resentment  of  the  wounded  man's 
friends.  If  the  least  of  pity  played  a  part  in 
suggesting  that  her  safest  course  was  to  help  de 
Spain,  Nan  kept  its  promptings  as  much  as  she 
could  in  the  penumbra  of  her  thoughts.  She 
did  not  want  to  pity  or  to  help  him,  she  con- 

184 


Nan  Drifts 

vinced  herself;  but  she  did  not  want  his  death 
laid  to  a  Morgan  plot — for  none  of  his  friends 
would  ever  believe  de  Spain  had  found  his  way 
alive  and  alone  to  where  he  lay. 

All  of  this  Nan  was  casting  up  in  her  mind 
as  she  walked  home.  She  had  already  decided, 
but  without  realizing  it,  what  to  do,  and  was 
willing  to  assume  that  her  mind  was  still  open. 

Toward  daylight  of  the  morning,  de  Spain 
dreamed  he  was  not  alone — that  a  figure  moved 
silently  in  the  faintness  of  the  dawn — a  figure  he 
struggled  to  believe  a  reality,  but  one  that  tricked 
his  wandering  senses  and  left  him,  at  the  coming 
of  another  day,_weaker,  with  failing  courage,  and 
alone. 

But  when  he  opened  his  eyes  later,  and  with  a 
clearer  head,  he  found  food  and  drink  near. 
Unable  to  believe  his  sight,  he  fancied  his  waver 
ing  senses  deceiving  him,  until  he  put  out  his 
hand  and  felt  actually  the  substance  of  what  he 
saw.  He  took  up  a  bottle  of  milk  incredulously, 
and  sipped  at  it  with  the  caution  of  a  man  not 
unused  to  periods  of  starvation.  He  broke  eggs 
and  swallowed  them,  at  intervals,  hungrily  from 
the  shell;  and  meat  he  cached,  animal-like,  in 
near-by  crannies  and,  manlike,  in  his  pockets. 

He  was  determined,  if  she  should  come  again, 
to  intercept  his  visitor.  For  forty-eight  hours 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

he  tried  cat-naps  with  an  occasional  sandwich 
to  keep  up  his  strength.  Nan  returned  unseen, 
and  disappeared  despite  his  watchfulness.  A  new 
supply  of  food  proved  she  had  been  near,  but  that 
it  would  be  hard  to  time  her  coming. 

When  she  did  come,  the  third  time,  an  innocent 
snare  discovered  her  presence.  It  was  just  be 
fore  day,  and  de  Spain  had  so  scattered  small 
obstacles — handfuls  of  gravel  and  little  chips  of 
rock — that  should  she  cross  the  ledge  in  the  dark 
she  could  hardly  escape  rousing  him. 

The  device  betrayed  her.  "I'm  awake/'  an 
nounced  de  Spain  at  once  from  his  retreat.  When 
she  stopped  at  the  words  he  could  not  see  her; 
she  had  flattened  herself,  standing,  against  a  wall 
of  the  ledge.  He  waited  patiently.  "You  give 
me  no  chance  to  thank  you,"  he  went  on  after  a 
pause.  Nan,  drawing  nearer,  put  down  a  small 
parcel.  "I  don't  need  any  thanks,"  she  replied 
with  calculated  coolness.  "I  am  hoping  when 
you  are  well  enough  you  will  go  away,  quietly,  in 
the  night.  That  will  be  the  only  way  you  can 
thank  me." 

"I  shall  be  as  glad  to  go  as  you  can  be  to 
have  me,"  rejoined  de  Spain.  "But  that  won't 
be  thanking  you  as  I  am  going  to.  If  you  think 
you  can  save  my  life  and  refuse  my  thanks  as  I 
mean  to  express  them — you  are  mistaken.  I  will 

1 86 


Nan  Drifts 

be  perfectly  honest.  Lying  out  here  isn't  just 
what  I'd  choose  for  comfort.  But  if  by  doing  it 
I  could  see  you  once  in  two  or  three  days ' 

"You  won't  see  me  again." 

"No  news  could  be  worse.  And  if  I  can't,  I 
don't  know  how  I'm  going  to  get  out  at  all.  I've 
no  horse — you  know  that.  I  can't  stand  on  my 
foot  yet;  if  you  had  a  light  you  might  see  for 
yourself.  I  think  I  showed  you  my  gun.  If 
you  could  tell  me  where  I  am — 

He  halted  on  the  implied  question.  Nan  took 
ample  time  to  reply. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  where 
you  are?"  she  asked,  and  there  was  a  touch  of 
vexed  incredulity  in  her  tone. 

De  Spain  seemed  unmoved  by  her  scepticism. 
"I  can't  tell  you  anything  else,"  he  said  simply. 
"You  couldn't  have  any  idea  I  crawled  up  here 
for  the  fun  of  it." 

"I've  been  trying  to  think,"  she  returned,  and 
he  perceived  in  the  hardness  of  her  voice  how  at 
bay  she  felt  in  giving  him  the  least  bit  of  informa 
tion,  "whether  I  ought  to  tell  you  anything  at 
all- 

"I  couldn't  very  decently  take  any  unfair  ad 
vantage  after  what  you've  done,  could  I  ?" 

"Then — you  are  in  Morgan's  Gap,"  she  said 
swiftly,  as  if  she  wanted  it  off  her  mind. 

187 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

There  was  no  movement  of  surprise,  neither 
was  there  any  answer.  "I  supposed,  when  I 
found  you  here,  you  knew  that,"  she  added  less 
resolutely;  the  darkness  and  silence  were  plainly 
a  strain. 

"I  know  you  are  telling  the  truth,"  he  re 
sponded  at  length.  "But  I  can  hardly  believe 
it.  That's  the  reason,  of  course,  you  did  find  me. 
I  rode  a  good  many  miles  that  night  without 
knowing  where  I  was  or  what  I  was  doing.  I 
certainly  never  figured  on  winding  up  here.  How 
could  I  get  in  here  without  being  stopped  ?" 

"Everybody  inside  the  Gap  was  outside  hunt 
ing  for  you,  I  suppose." 

"There  isn't  much  use  asking  where  I  am,  in 
the  Gap.  I  never  was  inside  but  once.  I  should 
n't  know  if  you  did  tell  me." 

"You  are  at  the  foot  of  Music  Mountain,  about 
a  mile  from  where  I  live." 

"You  must  have  thought  I  meant  to  raid  your 
house.  I  didn't.  I  was  hit.  I  got  mixed  up  in 
trying  to  get  away.  You  want  me  out  of  here  ?" 

"Very  much." 

"No  more  than  I  want  to  get  out.  Perhaps  by 
to-morrow  I  could  walk  a  few  miles.  I  should 
have  to  assassinate  somebody  to  get  some  am 


munition." 


"It  wouldn't  be  hard  for  you  to  do  that,   I 
presume." 

188 


Nan  Drifts 

Her  words  and  her  tone  revealed  the  intensity 
of  her  dislike  and  the  depth  of  her  distrust. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said, 
without  resentment:  "You  are  ashamed  already 
of  saying  that,  aren't  you  ?" 

"No,  I  am  not,"  she  answered  defiantly. 

"Yes,  you  are.  You  know  it  isn't  true.  If  you 
believed  it  you  never  would  have  brought  food 
here  to  save  my  life." 

"I  brought  it  to  save  some  of  my  own  people 
from  possible  death  at  your  hands — to  prevent 
another  fight — to  see  if  you  hadn't  manhood 
enough  after  being  helped,  to  go  away,  when  you 
were  able  to  move,  peaceably.  One  cartridge 
might  mean  one  life,  dear  to  me." 

"I  know  whose  life  you  mean." 

"You  know  nothing  about  what  I  mean." 

"I  know  better  than  you  know  yourself.  If  I 
believed  you,  I  shouldn't  respect  you.  Fear  and 
mercy  are  two  different  things.  If  I  thought 
you  were  only  afraid  of  me,  I  shouldn't  think  much 
of  your  aid.  Listen — I  never  took  the  life  of  any 
man  except  to  defend  my  own— 

"No  murderer  that  ever  took  anybody's  life  in 
this  country  ever  said  anything  but  that." 

"Don't  class  me  with  murderers." 

uYou  are  known  from  one  end  of  the  country 
to  the  other  as  a  gunman." 

He  answered  impassively:  "Did  these  men  who 
189 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

call  me  a  gunman  ever  tell  you  why  I'm  one?" 
She  seemed  in  too  hostile  a  mood  to  answer.  I 
guess  not,"  he  went  on.  "Let  me  tell  you  now. 
The  next  time  you  hear  me  called  a  gunman 
you  can  tell  them." 

"I  won't  listen,"  she  exclaimed,  restive. 

"Yes,  you  will  listen,"  he  said  quietly;  "y°u 
shall  hear  every  word.  My  father  brought  sheep 
into  the  Peace  River  country.  The  cattlemen 
picked  on  him  to  make  an  example  of.  He  went 
out,  unarmed,  one  night  to  take  care  of  the  horses. 
My  mother  heard  two  shots.  He  didn't  come 
back.  She  went  to  look  for  him.  He  was  lying 
under  the  corral  gate  with  a  hole  smashed 
through  his  jaw  by  a  rifle-bullet  that  tore  his 
head  half  off."  De  Spain  did  not  raise  his  voice 
nor  did  he  hasten  his  words.  "I  was  born  one 
night  six  months  after  that,"  he  continued.  "My 
mother  died  that  night.  When  a  neighbor's  wife 
took  me  from  her  arm  and  wrapped  me  in  a 
blanket,  she  saw  I  carried  the  face  of  my  father 
as  my  mother  had  seen  it  the  night  he  was  mur 
dered.  That,"  he  said,  "is  what  made  me  a 
'gunman.'  Not  whiskey — not  women — not  cards 
—just  what  you've  heard.  And  I'll  tell  you 
something  else  you  may  tell  the  men  that  call 
me  a  gunman.  The  man  that  shot  down  my 
father  at  his  corral  gate  I  haven't  found  yet.  I 

190 


Nan  Drifts 

expect  to  find  him.  For  ten  years  I've  been 
getting  ready  to  find  him.  He  is  here — in  these 
mountains.  I  don't  even  know  his  name.  But 
if  I  live,  I'll  find  him.  And  when  I  do,  I'll  tear 
open  his  head  with  a  soft  bullet  in  the  way  he  tore 
my  father's  open.  After  I  get  through  with  that 
man" — he  hesitated — "they  may  call  me  what 
ever  they  like." 

The  faint  ghostliness  of  the  coming  day,  writ 
ing  its  warning  in  the  eastern  sky,  the  bitter  chill 
of  the  dying  night,  the  slow,  hard,  impassive  ut 
terance,  the  darkness  in  which  she  stood  listening 
to  an  enemy  she  could  not  see,  the  loneliness  and 
danger  of  her  situation  combined  to  impress  on 
the  unwilling  listener  the  picture  of  the  murder, 
the  tragic  birth,  and  the  mother's  death.  "You 
want  me  out  of  the  Gap,"  de  Spain  concluded, 
his  voice  unchanged.  "I  want  to  get  out.  Come 
back,  once  more,  in  the  daytime.  I  will  see 
what  I  can  do  with  my  foot  by  that  time."  He 
paused.  "Will  you  come?" 

She  hesitated.  "It  would  be  too  dangerous 
for  me  to  come  up  here  in  the  daytime.  Trouble 
would  follow." 

"Come  at  dusk.     You  know  I  am  no  murderer." 

"I  don't  know  it,"  she  persisted  stubbornly. 
It  was  her  final  protest. 

"Count,  some  day,  on  knowing  it." 
191 


CHAPTER  XV 

CROSSING   A   DEEP    RIVER 

A  GRIZZLY  bear  hidden  among  the  hay- 
stacks  back  of  the  corral  would  have  given 
Nan  much  less  anxiety  than  de  Spain  secreted 
in  the  heart  of  the  Morgan  stronghold.  But  as 
she  hurried  home,  fearful  of  encountering  an  early 
rider  who  should  ask  questions,  it  seemed  as  if 
she  might,  indeed,  find  some  way  of  getting  rid 
of  the  troublesome  foe  without  having  it  on  her 
conscience  that  she  had  starved  a  wounded  man 
to  death,  or  that  he  had  shot  some  one  of  her 
people  in  getting  away. 

Her  troubled  speculations  were  reduced  now 
almost  to  wondering  when  de  Spain  would  leave, 
and,  disinclined  though  she  felt  to  further  parley, 
she  believed  he  would  go  the  sooner  if  she  were 
to  consent  to  see  him  again.  Everything  he  had 
said  to  her  seemed  to  unsettle  her  mind  and  to 
imperil  impressions  concerning  him  that  she  felt 
it  dangerous,  or  at  least  treasonable,  to  part  with. 
To  believe  anything  but  the  worst  of  a  man  whom 
she  heard  cursed  and  abused  continually  by  her 

192 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

uncles,  cousins,  and  their  associates  and  retain 
ers,  seemed  a  monstrous  thing — and  every  effort 
de  Spain  made  to  dislodge  her  prejudices  called 
for  fresh  distrust  on  her  part.  What  had  most 
shaken  her  convictions — and  it  would  come  back 
to  her  in  spite  of  everything  she  could  do  to 
keep  it  out  of  her  mind — was  the  recollection  of 
the  murder  of  his  father,  the  tragic  death  of  his 
mother.  As  for  the  facts  of  his  story,  somehow 
she  never  thought  of  questioning  them.  The  seal 
of  its  dreadful  truth  he  carried  on  his  face. 

That  day  Nan  washed  her  hair.  On  the  second 
day — because  there  were  no  good  reasons  for  it 
— she  found  herself  deciding  conscientiously  to 
see  de  Spain  for  the  last  time,  and  toward  sunset. 
This  was  about  the  time  he  had  suggested,  but  it 
really  seemed,  after  long  thought,  the  best  time. 
She  began  dressing  early  for  her  trip,  and  with 
constantly  recurring  dissatisfaction  with  her  ward 
robe — picking  the  best  of  her  limited  stock  of 
silk  stockings,  choosing  the  freshest  of  her  few 
pairs  of  tan  boots.  All  of  her  riding-skirts  looked 
shabby  as  she  fretfully  inspected  them;  but 
Bonita  pressed  out  the  newest  one  for  the  hurried 
occasion,  while  Nan  used  the  interval,  with  more 
than  usual  care,  on  her  troublesome  hair — never 
less  tractable,  it  seemed,  in  her  life.  Nothing,  in 
truth,  in  her  appearance,  satisfied  her,  and  she 

193 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

was  obliged  at  last  to  turn  from  her  glass  with 
the  hateful  sigh  that  it  made  no  difference  any 
way. 

De  Spain  was  sitting  with  his  back  against  a 
rock,  and  his  knees  drawn  up,  leaning  his  head 
on  his  right  hand  and  resting  his  elbow  on  the 
knee.  His  left  arm  hung  down  over  his  left  knee, 
and  the  look  on  his  face  was  one  of  reflection  and 
irresolution  rather  than  of  action  and  decision. 
But  he  looked  so  restored  after  his  brief  period 
of  nourishment  that  Nan,  when  she  stepped  up 
on  the  ledge  at  sunset,  would  not. have  known 
the  wreck  she  had  seen  in  the  same  place  the  week 
before. 

His  heart  jumped  at  the  sight  of  her  young 
face,  and  her  clear,  courageous  eyes  surveyed 
him  questioningly  as  he  scrambled  to  his  feet. 

"I  am  going  to  tramp  out  of  here  to-morrow 
night,"  he  confided  to  her  after  his  thanks.  "It 
is  Saturday;  a  lot  of  your  men  will  be  in  Sleepy 
Cat — and  they  won't  all  be  very  keen-sighted  on 
their  way  back.  I  can  get  a  good  start  outside 
before  daylight." 

She  heard  him  with  relief.  "What  will  you  do 
then  ?"  she  asked. 

"Hide.  Watch  every  chance  to  crawl  a  mile 
nearer  Calabasas.  I  can't  walk  much,  but  I 
ought  to  make  it  by  Sunday  night  or  Monday 

194 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

morning.  I  may  see  a  friend — perhaps  I  may  see 
the  other  fellow's  friend,  and  with  my  lone  car 
tridge  I  may  be  able  to  bluff  him  out  of  a  horse," 
he  suggested,  gazing  at  the  crimson  tie  that 
flowed  from  Nan's  open  neck.  "By  the  way," 
he  added,  his  glance  resting  on  her  right  side  as 
he  noticed  the  absence  of  her  holster,  "where  is 
your  protector  to-day?"  She  made  no  answer. 
"Fine  form,"  he  said  coldly,  "to  come  unarmed 
on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  a  desperado." 

Nan  flushed  with  vexation.  "I  came  away  in 
such  a  hurry  I  forgot  it,"  she  replied  lamely. 

"A  forget  might  cost  you  your  life." 

"Perhaps  you've  forgotten  you  left  a  cartridge- 
belt  behind  once  yourself,"  she  returned  swiftly. 
The  retort  startled  him.  How  could  she  know  ? 
But  he  would  not,  at  first,  ask  a  question,  though 
her  eyes  told  him  she  knew  what  she  was  talking 
about.  They  looked  at  each  other  a  moment  in 
silence. 

De  Spain,  convicted,  finally  laid  his  fingers 
over  the  butt  of  his  empty  revolver.  "How  did 
you  find  that  out  ?" 

She  tossed  her  head.  They  were  standing  only 
a  few  feet  apart,  de  Spain  supporting  himself  now 
with  his  left  hand  high  up  against  the  wall;  Nan, 
with  her  shoulder  lightly  against  it;  both  had  be 
come  quizzical.  "Other  people  forget,  too,  then," 

195 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

was  all  she  said,  fingering  the  loosened  tie  as 
the  breeze  from  the  west  blew  it  toward  her 
shoulder. 

"No,"  he  protested,  "I  didn't  forget;  not  that 
time.  I  went  over  to  the  joint  to  get  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  expected  to  be  back  within  five  min 
utes,  never  dreaming  of  walking  into  a  bear 
trap."  He  drew  his  revolver  and,  breaking  it 
negligently,  took  out  the  single  cartridge.  "Take 
this."  He  held  the  cartridge  in  his  left  hand  and 
took  two  halting  steps  toward  her — "since  you 
are  unarmed,  I  will  be,  too.  Not  that  this  puts 
us  on  an  even  footing.  I  don't  mean  that. 
Nothing  would.  You  would  be  too  much  for  me 
in  any  kind  of  a  contest,  armed  or  unarmed." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded  to  hide 
her  confusion.  And  she  saw  that  each  step  he 
took  cost  pain,  skilfully  concealed. 

"I  mean,"  he  said,  "you  are  to  take  this  car 
tridge  as  a  remembrance  of  my  forgetfulness  and 
your  adventure." 

She  drew  back.     "I  don't  want  it." 

"Take  it." 

He  was  persistent.  She  allowed  him  to  drop 
the  loaded  shell  into  her  hand.  "Now,"  he  con 
tinued,  replacing  his  gun,  "if  I  encounter  any  of 
your  people  in  an  attempt  to  break  through  a 
line,  and  somebody  gets  killed,  you  will  know, 

196 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

when  you  hear  the  story,  that  this  time,  at  least, 
/  didn't  'start  it.'" 

"All  the  same—"  She  hesitated.  "I  don't 
think  that's  exactly  right.  You  need  not  shoot 
my  people,  even  if  you  meet  them.  There  are 
plenty  of  others  you  might  meet ' 

He  put  her  objections  aside,  enjoying  being  so 
near  her  and  happy  that  she  made  no  retreat. 
"My  reputation,"  he  insisted,  "has  suffered  a 
little  in  Morgan's  Gap.  I  mean  that  at  least  one 
who  makes  her  home  under  Music  Mountain 
shall  know  differently  of  me.  What's  that?" 
He  heard  a  sound.  "Listen!" 

The  two,  looking  at  each  other,  strained  their 
ears  to  hear  more  through  the  rush  of  the  falling 
water.  "Some  one  is  coming,"  said  de  Spain. 
Nan  ran  lightly  to  where  she  could  peep  over  the 
ledge.  Hardly  pausing  as  she  glanced  down,  she 
stepped  quickly  back.  "I'll  go  right  on  up  the 
mountain  to  the  azalea  fields,"  she  said  hastily. 

He  nodded.  "I'll  hide.  Stop.  If  you  are 
questioned,  you  don't  know  I'm  here.  You  must 
say  so  for  your  own  sake,  not  for  mine." 

She  was  gone  before  he  had  finished.  De  Spain 
drew  quickly  back  to  where  he  could  secrete 
himself.  In  another  moment  he  heard  heavy 
footsteps  where  he  had  stood  with  his  visitor. 
But  the  footsteps  crossed  the  ledge,  and  their 

197 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

sound  died  away  up  the  path  Nan  had  taken. 
De  Spain  could  not  see  the  intruder.  It  was 
impossible  to  conjecture  who  he  was  or  what 
his  errand,  and  de  Spain  could  only  await  what 
ever  should  develop.  He  waited  several  minutes 
before  he  heard  any  sign  of  life  above.  Then 
snatches  of  two  voices  began  to  reach  him.  He 
could  distinguish  Nan's  voice  and  at  intervals 
the  heavier  tones  of  a  man.  The  two  were  de 
scending.  In  a  few  moments  they  reached  the 
ledge,  and  de  Spain,  near  at  hand,  could  hear 
every  word. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,"  said  the  man  roughly. 
His  voice  was  heavy  and  his  utterance  harsh. 

"I  must  get  home,"  objected  Nan. 

"Hold  on,  I  tell  you,"  returned  her  companion. 
De  Spain  could  not  see,  but  he  began  already  to 
feel  the  scene.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"We  can  talk  going  down,"  parried  Nan. 

De  Spain  heard  her  hurried  footfalls.  "No, 
you  don't,"  retorted  her  companion,  evidently 
cutting  off  her  retreat. 

"Gale  Morgan!"  There  was  a  blaze  in  Nan's 
sharp  exclamation.  "What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  you  and  I  are  going  to  have  this  out 
right  here,  before  we  leave  this  ledge." 

"I  tell  you,  I  want  to  go  home." 

"You'll  go  home  when  I  say  so." 
198 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

"How  dare  you  stop  me!" 

"  I'll  show  you  what  I  dare,  young  lady.  You've 
been  backing  and  filling  with  me  for  two  years. 
Now  I  want  to  know  what  you're  going  to  do." 

"Gale  !  Won't  you  have  a  little  sense  ?  Come 
along  home  with  me,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  I'll 
talk  things  over  with  you  just  as  long  as  you 
like." 

" You'll  talk  things  over  with  me  right  here, 
and  as  long  as  /  like,"  he  retorted  savagely. 
"Every  time  I  ask  you  to  marry  me  you've  got 
some  new  excuse." 

"It's  shameful  for  you  to  act  in  this  way, 
Gale."  She  spoke  low  and  rapidly  to  her  en 
raged  suitor.  De  Spain  alone  knew  it  was  to 
keep  her  humiliation  from  his  own  ears,  and  he 
made  no  effort  to  follow  her  quick,  pleading  words. 
The  moment  was  most  embarrassing  for  two  of 
the  three  involved.  But  nothing  that  Nan  could 
say  would  win  from  her  cousin  any  reprieve. 

"When  you  came  back  from  school  I  told 
Duke  I  was  going  to  marry  you.  He  said,  all 
right,"  persisted  her  cousin  stubbornly. 

"Gale  Morgan,  what  Uncle  Duke  said,  or  didn't 
say,  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  my  consent." 

"I  told  you  I  was  going  to  marry  you." 

"Does  that  bind  me  to  get  married,  when  I 
don't  want  to  ?" 

199 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"You  said  you'd  marry  me." 

Nan  exploded:  "I  never,  never  said  so  in  this 
world/'  Her  voice  shook  with  indignation. 
"You  know  that's  a  downright  falsehood." 

11  You  said  you  didn't  care  for  anybody  else,"  he 
fairly  bellowed.  "Now  I  want  to  know  whether 
you'll  marry  me  if  I  take  you  over  to  Sleepy  Cat 
to-morrow?" 

"No!"  Nan  flung  out  her  answer,  reckless  of 
consequence.  "I'll  never  marry  you.  Let  me  go 
home." 

"  You'll  go  home  when  I  get  through  with  you. 
You've  fooled  me  long  enough." 

Her  blood  froze  at  the  look  in  his  face.  "How 
dare  you!"  she  gasped.  "Get  out  of  my  way!" 

"You  damned  little  vixen!"  He  sprang  for 
ward  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist.  "I'll  take  the 
kinks  out  of  you.  You  wouldn't  marry  me  your 
way,  now  you'll  marry  me  mine." 

She  fought  like  a  tigress.  He  dragged  her 
struggling  into  his  arms.  But  above  her  half- 
stifled  cries  and  his  grunting  laugh,  Morgan  heard 
a  sharp  voice:  "Take  your  hands  off  that  girl!" 

Whirling,  with  Nan  in  his  savage  arms,  the 
half-drunken  mountaineer  saw  de  Spain  ten  feet 
away,  his  right  hand  resting  on  the  grip  of  his 
revolver.  Stunned,  but  sobered  by  mortal  dan 
ger,  Morgan  greeted  his  enemy  with  an  oath. 

200 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

"Stand  away  from  that  girl!"  repeated  de  Spain 
harshly,  backing  the  words  with  a  step  forward. 
Morgan's  grasp  relaxed.  Nan,  jerking  away, 
looked  at  de  Spain  and  instantly  stepped  in  front 
of  her  cousin,  on  whom  de  Spain  seemed  about  to 
draw. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  demanded  Mor 
gan,  with  an  enraged  oath. 

"I  left  some  business  with  you  the  other  day 
at  Calabasas  half  finished,"  said  de  Spain.  "I'm 
here  this  afternoon  to  clean  it  up.  Get  away 
from  that  girl !" 

His  manner  frightened  even  Nan.  The  quick 
step  to  the  side  and  back — poising  himself  like  a 
fencer — his  revolver  restrained  a  moment  in  its 
sheath  by  an  eager  right  arm,  as  if  at  any  instant 
it  might  leap  into  deadly  play. 

Shocked  with  new  fear,  Nan  hesitated.  If  it 
was  play,  it  was  too  realistic  for  the  nerves  even 
of  a  mountain  girl.  De  Spain's  angry  face  and 
burning  eyes  photographed  themselves  on  her 
memory  from  that  moment.  But  whatever  he 
meant,  she  had  her  part  to  do.  She  backed,  with 
arms  spread  low  at  her  sides,  directly  against  her 
cousin.  "You  shan't  fight,"  she  cried  at  de 
Spain. 

"Stand  away  from  that  man!"  retorted  de 
Spain  sternly. 

201 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"You  shan't  kill  my  cousin.  What  do  you 
mean  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Leave  us  !" 

"Get  away,  Nan,  I  tell  you.  I'll  finish  him," 
cried  Morgan,  puncturing  every  word  with  an  oath. 

She  whirled  and  caught  her  cousin  in  her  arms. 
"He  will  shoot  us  both  if  you  fire.  Take  me  away, 
Gale.  You  coward,"  she  exclaimed,  whirling 
again  with  trembling  tones  on  de  Spain,  "would 
you  kill  a  woman  ?" 

De  Spain  saw  the  danger  was  past.  It  needed 
hardly  an  instant  to  show  him  that  Morgan  had 
lost  stomach  for  a  fight.  He  talked  wrathfully, 
but  he  made  no  motion  to  draw.  "I  see  I've  got 
to  chase  you  into  a  fight,"  said  de  Spain  con 
temptuously,  and  starting  gingerly  to  circle  the 
hesitating  cousin.  Nan,  in  her  excitement,  ran 
directly  toward  the  enemy,  as  if  to  cut  off  his 
movement. 

"Don't  you  dare  put  me  in  danger,"  she  cried, 
facing  de  Spain  threateningly*  "Don't  you  dare 
fight  my  cousin  here." 

"Stand  away  from  me,"  hammered  de  Spain, 
eying  Morgan  steadily. 

"He  is  wounded  now,"  stormed  Nan,  so  fast 
she  could  hardly  frame  the  words.  "You  shan't 
kill  him.  If  you  are  a  man,  don't  shoot  a  wounded 
man  and  a  woman.  You  shan't  shoot.  Gale ! 
protect  yourself!"  Whirling  to  face  her  cousin, 

202 


;  Stand  away  from  that  girl !"  repeated  de  Spain  harshly, 
backing  the  words  with  a  step  forward. 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

she  took  the  chance  to  back  directly  against  de 
Spain.  Both  hands  were  spread  open  and  partly 
behind  her,  the  palms  up,  as  if  to  check  him.  In 
the  instant  that  she  and  de  Spain  were  in  con 
tact  he  realized,  rather  than  saw — for  his  eyes 
never  released  Morgan's  eyes — what  she  was  fran 
tically  slipping  to  him — the  loaded  cartridge.  It 
was  done  in  a  flash,  and  she  was  running  from 
him  again.  Her  warm  fingers  had  swept  across 
his  own.  She  had  returned  to  him,  voluntarily, 
his  slender  chance  for  life.  But  in  doing  it  she 
had  challenged  him  to  a  new  and  overwhelming 
interest  in  life  itself.  And  again,  in  front  of  her 
cousin,  she  was  crying  out  anew  against  the  shed 
ding  of  blood. 

"I  came  up  here  to  fight  a  man.  I  don't  fight 
women/'  muttered  de  Spain,  maintaining  the  de 
ceit  and  regarding  both  with  an  unpromising  vis 
age.  Then  to  Morgan.  "I'll  talk  to  you  later. 
But  you've  got  to  fight  or  get  away  from  here, 
both  of  you,  in  ten  seconds." 

"Take  me  away,  Gale,"  cried  Nan.  "Leave 
him  here — take  me  home  !  Take  me  home  !" 

She  caught  her  cousin's  arm.  "Stay  right 
where  you  are,"  shouted  Morgan,  pointing  at  de 
Spain,  and  following  Nan  as  she  pulled  him  along. 
"When  I  come  back,  I'll  give  you  what  you're 
looking  for." 

203 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Bring  your  friends,"  said  de  Spain  tauntingly. 
"I'll  accommodate  four  more  of  you.  Stop!" 
With  one  hand  still  on  his  revolver  he  pointed  the 
way.  "Go  down  that  trail  first,  Morgan.  Stay 
where  you  are,  girl,  till  he  gets  down  that  hill. 
You  won't  pot  me  over  her  shoulder  for  a  while 
yet.  Move!" 

Morgan  took  the  path  sullenly,  de  Spain  cover 
ing  every  step  he  took.  Behind  de  Spain  Nan 
stood  waiting  for  her  cousin  to  get  beyond  ear 
shot.  "What,"  she  whispered  hurriedly  to  de 
Spain,  "will  you  do?" 

Covering  Morgan,  who  could  whirl  on  him  at 
any  turn  in  the  descent,  de  Spain  could  not  look 
at  her  in  answering.  "Looks  pretty  rocky, 
doesn't  it  ?" 

"He  will  start  the  whole  Gap  as  soon  as  he 
gets  to  his  horse." 

He  looked  at  the  darkening  sky.  "They  won't 
be  very  active  on  the  job  before  morning." 

Morgan  was  at  a  safe  distance.  De  Spain 
turned  to  Nan.  He  tried  to  speak  out  to  her, 
but  she  sternly  smothered  his  every  effort.  Her 
cheeks  were  on  fire,  she  breathed  fast,  her  eyes 
burned. 

"It  looks,"  muttered  de  Spain,  "as  if  I  should 
have  to  climb  Music  Mountain  to  make  a  get 
away." 

204 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

"There  is  no  good  place  to  hide  anywhere 
above  here,"  said  Nan,  regarding  him  intently. 

"Why  look  so  hard  at  me,  then?"  he  asked. 
"If  this  is  the  last  of  it,  I  can  take  it  here  with 
our  one  lone  cartridge." 

Her  eyes  were  bent  on  him  as  if  they  would 
pierce  him  through.  "If  I  save  your  life — "  still 
breathing  fast,  she  hesitated  for  words — "you 
won't  trick  me — ever — will  you  ?" 

Steadily  returning  her  appealing  gaze,  de  Spain 
answered  with  deliberation.  "Don't  ever  give 
me  a  chance  to  trick  you,  Nan." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  demanded,  fear  and 
distrust  burning  in  her  tone. 

"My  life,"  he  said  slowly,  "isn't  worth  it." 

uYou  know —  He  could  see  her  resolute  un- 
derlip,  pink  with  fresh  young  blood,  quiver  with 
intensity  of  feeling  as  she  faltered.  "You  know 
what  every  man  says  of  every  girl — foolish,  trust 
ing,  easy  to  deceive — everything  like  that." 

"May  God  wither  my  tongue  before  ever  it 
speaks  to  deceive  you,  Nan." 

"A  while  ago  you  frightened  me  so 

"Frightened  you!  Great  God!"  He  stepped 
closer  and  looked  straight  down  into  her  eyes. 
"If  you  had  raised  just  one  finger  when  I  was 
bluffing  that  fellow,  I'd  have  calmed  down  and 
eaten  out  of  your  little  hand,  by  the  hour!" 

205 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"There's  not  a  moment  to  lose,"  she  said 
swiftly.  "Listen:  a  trail  around  this  mountain 
leads  out  of  the  Gap,  straight  across  the  face  of 
El  Capitan." 

"I  can  make  it." 

"Listen!     It  is  terribly  dangerous " 

"Whatever  it  is  it's  a  concrete  boulevard  to  a 
man  in  my  fix." 

"It  is  half  a  mile — only  inches  wide  in  places — 
up  and  down — loose  rock " 

"Some  trail!" 

"If  you  slip  it's  a  thousand  feet " 

"A  hundred  would  be  more  than  plenty." 

"A  good  climber  can  do  it — I  have  done  it. 
I'd  even  go  with  you,  if  I  could." 

"Why?" 

She  shook  her  head  angrily  at  what  he  dared 
show  in  his  eyes.  "Oh,  keep  still,  listen!" 

"I  know  you'd  go,  Nan,"  he  declared  unper 
turbed.  "  But  believe  me,  I  never  would  let  you." 

"I  can't  go,  because  to  do  any  good  I  must 
meet  you  with  a  horse  outside." 

He  only  looked  silently  at  her,  and  she  turned  her 
eyes  from  his  gaze.  "See,"  she  said,  taking  him 
eagerly  to  the  back  of  the  ledge  and  pointing, 
"follow  that  trail,  the  one  to  the  east — you  can't 
get  lost;  you  can  reach  El  Capitan  before  dark — 
it's  very  close.  Creep  carefully  across  El  Capitan 

206 


Crossing  a  Deep  River 

on  that  narrow  trail,  and  on  the  other  side  there 
is  a  wide  one  clear  down  to  the  road — oh,  do  be 
careful  on  El  Capitan." 

"I'll  be  careful/' 

"I  must  watch  my  chance  to  get  away  from  the 
corral  with  a  horse.  If  I  fail  it  will  be  because  I 
am  locked  up  at  home,  and  you  must  hide  and 
do  the  best  you  can.  How  much  they  will  sur 
mise  of  this,  I  don't  know." 

"Go  now,  this  minute,"  he  said,  restraining  his 
words.  "If  you  don't  come,  I  shall  know  why." 

She  turned  without  speaking  and,  fearless  as  a 
chamois,  ran  down  the  rocks.  De  Spain,  losing 
not  a  moment,  hobbled  rapidly  up  along  the 
granite-walled  passage  that  led  the  way  to  his 
chance  for  life. 


207 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    VENTURE    IN    THE    DARK 

PUSHING  his  way  hastily  forward  when  he 
could  make  haste;  crawling  slowly  on  his 
hands  and  knees  when  held  by  opposing  rock; 
feeling  for  narrow  footholds  among  loose  and 
treacherous  fragments;  flattening  himself  like  a 
leech  against  the  face  of  the  precipice  when  the 
narrowing  ledge  left  him  only  inches  under  foot; 
clinging  with  torn  hands  to  every  favoring  crev 
ice,  and  pausing  when  the  peril  was  extreme  for 
fresh  strength,  de  Spain  dragged  his  injured  foot 
across  the  sheer  face  of  El  Capitan  in  the  last 
shadows  of  the  day's  failing  light. 

Half-way  across,  he  stopped  to  look  down.  Far 
below  lay  the  valley  shrouded  in  night.  Where  he 
stood,  stars,  already  bright,  lighted  the  peaks. 
But  nowhere  in  the  depths  could  he  see  any  sign 
of  life.  Spent  by  his  effort,  de  Spain  reached  the 
rendezvous  Nan  had  indicated,  as  nearly  as  the 
stars  would  tell  him,  by  ten  o'clock.  He  fell 
asleep  in  the  aspen  grove.  Horsemen  passing  not 
a  hundred  yards  away  roused  him. 

208 


A  Venture  in  the  Dark 

He  could  not  tell  how  many  or  who  they  were, 
but  from  the  sounds  he  judged  they  were  riding 
into  the  Gap.  The  moon  was  not  yet  up,  so  he 
knew  it  was  not  much  after  midnight.  The 
ground  was  very  cold,  and  he  crawled  farther  on 
toward  the  road  along  which  Nan  had  said  he 
might  look  for  her.  It  was  only  after  a  long  and 
doubtful  hour  that  he  heard  the  muffled  footfalls 
of  a  horse.  He  stood  concealed  among  the  smaller 
trees  until  he  could  distinguish  the  outlines  of 
the  animal,  and  his  eye  caught  the  figure  of  the 
rider. 

De  Spain  stepped  out  of  the  trees,  and,  moving 
toward  Nan,  caught  her  hand  and  helped  her  to 
the  ground. 

She  enjoined  silence,  and  led  the  horse  into  the 
little  grove.  Stopping  well  within  it,  she  stooped 
and  began  rearranging  the  mufflers  on  the  hoofs.^ 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  too  late,"  she  said.  "How 
long  have  you  been  here?"  She  faced  de  Spain 
with  one  hand  on  the  pony's  shoulder. 

"How  could  you  get  here  at  all?"  he  asked, 
reaching  clandestinely  for  her  other  hand. 

"I  got  terribly  frightened  thinking  of  your  try 
ing  El  Capitan.  Did  you  have  any  falls  ?" 

"You  see  I'm  here — I've  even  slept  since. 
You !  How  could  you  get  here  at  all  with  a 
horse?" 

209 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"If  I'm  only  not  too  late,"  she  murmured, 
drawing  her  hand  away. 

"I've  loads  of  time,  it's  not  one  o'clock." 

"They  are  hiding  on  both  trails  outside  watch 
ing  for  you — and  the  moon  will  be  up — "  She 
seemed  very  anxious.  De  Spain  made  light  of 
her  fears.  "I'll  get  past  them — I've  got  to,  Nan. 
Don't  give  it  a  thought." 

"Every  corner  is  watched,"  she  repeated 
anxiously. 

"But  I  tell  you  I'll  dodge  them,  Nan." 

"They  have  rifles." 

"They  won't   get   a   chance   to   use  them  on 


me." 


"I  don't  know  what  you'll  think  of  me — "  He 
heard  the  troubled  note  in  her  voice. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

She  began  to  unbutton  her  jacket.  Throwing 
back  the  revers  she  felt  inside  around  her  waist, 
unfastened  after  a  moment  and  drew  forth  a 
leathern  strap.  She  laid  it  in  de  Spain's  hands. 
"This  is  yours,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

He  felt  it  questioningly,  hurriedly,  then  with 
amazement.  "Not  a  cartridge-belt!"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"It's  your  own." 

"Where—?"  She  made  no  answer.  "Where 
did  you  get  it,  Nan  ?"  he  whispered  hurriedly. 

210 


A  Venture  in  the  Dark 

"Where  you  left  it." 

"How  ?"     She  was  silent.     "When  ?" 

"To-night." 

"Have  you  been  to  Calabasas  and  back  to 
night?" 

"Everybody  but  Sassoon  is  in  the  chase,"  she 
replied  uneasily — as  if  not  knowing  what  to  say, 
or  how  to  say  it.  "They  said  you  should  never 
leave  the  Gap  alive — they  are  ready  with  traps 
everywhere.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I 
couldn't  bear — after  what — you  did  for  me  to 
night — to  think  of  your  being  shot  down  like  a 
dog,  when  you  were  only  trying  to  get  away." 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  you  take  a  ride  like  that 
for  forty  belts!" 

"McAlpin  showed  it  to  me  the  last  time  I  was 
at  the  stage  barn,  hanging  where  you  left  it." 
He  strapped  the  cartridges  around  him. 

"You  should  never  have  taken  that  ride  for 
it.  But  since  you  have—  He  had  drawn  his 
revolver  from  his  waistband.  He  broke  it  now 
and  held  it  out.  "Load  it  for  me,  Nan." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Put  four  more  cartridges  in  it  yourself.  Ex 
cept  for  your  cartridge,  the  gun  is  empty.  When 
you  do  that  you  will  know  none  of  them  ever  will 
be  used  against  your  own  except  to  protect  my 
life.  And  if  you  have  any  among  them  whose 

211 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

life  ought  to  come  ahead  of  mine — name  him,  or 
them,  now.     Do  as  I  tell  you — load  the  gun." 

He  took  hold  of  her  hands  and,  in  spite  of  her 
refusals,  made  her  do  his  will.  He  guided  her 
hand  to  draw  the  cartridges,  one  after  another, 
from  his  belt,  and  waited  for  her  to  slip  them  in 
the  darkness  into  the  empty  cylinder,  to  close  the 
breech,  and  hand  the  gun  back. 

"Now,  Nan,"  he  said,  "you  know  me.  You 
may  yet  have  doubts — they  will  all  die.  You  will 
hear  many  stories  about  me — but  you  will  say: 
'I  put  the  cartridges  in  his  revolver  with  my  own 
hands,  and  I  know  he  won't  abuse  the  means  of 
defense  I  gave  him  myself/  There  can  never  be 
any  real  doubts  or  misunderstandings  between  us 
again,  Nan,  if  you'll  forgive  me  for  making  a  fool 
of  myself  when  I  met  you  at  Tenison's.  I  didn't 
dream  you  were  desperate  about  the  way  your 
uncle  was  playing;  I  pieced  it  all  together  after 
ward."  He  waited  for  her  to  speak,  but  she  re 
mained  silent. 

"You  have  given  me  my  life,  my  defense,"  he 
continued,  passing  from  a  subject  that  he  per 
ceived  was  better  left  untouched.  "Who  is 
nearest  and  dearest  to  you  at  home?" 

"My  Uncle  Duke." 

"Then  I  never  will  raise  a  hand  against  your 
Uncle  Duke.  And  this  man,  to-night — this  cousin 
— Gale  ?  Nan,  what  is  that  man  ?" 

212 


A  Venture  in  the  Dark 

"I  hate  him." 

"Thank  God!     So  do  I!" 

"But  he  is  a  cousin." 

"Then  I  suppose  he  must  be  one  of  mine." 

"Unless  he  tries  to  kill  you." 

"He  won't  be  very  long  in  trying  that.  And 
now,  what  about  yourself?  What  have  you  got 
to  defend  yourself  against  him,  and  against  every 
other  drunken  man?" 

She  laid  her  own  pistol  without  a  word  in  de 
Spain's  hand.  He  felt  it,  opened,  closed,  and 
gave  it  back.  "That's  a  good  defender — when 
it's  in  reach.  When  it's  at  home  it's  a  poor  one." 

"It  will  never  be  at  home  again  except  when  I 
am." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret?" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Nan  unsuspectingly. 

"We  are  engaged  to  be  married."  She  sprang 
from  him  like  a  deer.  "It's  a  dead  secret,"  he 
said  gravely;  "nobody  knows  it  yet — not  even 
you." 

uYou  need  never  talk  again  like  that  if  you 
want  to  be  friends  with  me,"  she  said  indignantly. 
"I  hate  it." 

"Hate  it  if  you  will;  it's  so.  And  it  began 
when  you  handed  me  that  little  bit  of  lead  and 
brass  on  the  mountain  to-night,  to  defend  your 
life  and  mine." 

"I'll  hate  you  if  you  persecute  me  the  way 
213 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Gale  does.     The  moon  is  almost  up.     You  must 


go." 


"What  have  you  on  your  feet,  Nan  ?" 

"Moccasins."  He  stooped  down  and  felt  one 
with  his  hand.  She  drew  her  foot  hastily  away. 
"What  a  girl  to  manage!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I'm  going  home,"  she  said  with  decision. 

"Don't  for  a  minute  yet,  Nan,"  he  pleaded. 
"Think  how  long  it  will  be  before  I  can  ever  see 
you  again !" 

"You  may  never  see  anybody  again  if  you  don't 
realize  your  danger  to-night.  Can  you  ride  with 
a  hackamore  ?" 

"Like  a  dream." 

"I  didn't  dare  bring  anything  else." 

"You  haven't  told  me,"  he  persisted,  "how 
you  got  away  at  all."  They  had  walked  out  of  the 
trees.  He  looked  reluctantly  to  the  east.  "Tell 
me  and  I'll  go,"  he  promised. 

"After  I  went  up  to  my  room  I  waited  till 
the  house  was  all  quiet.  Then  I  started  for  Cal- 
abasas.  When  I  came  back  I  got  up  to  my  room 
without  being  seen,  and  sat  at  the  window  a  long 
time.  I  waited  till  all  the  men  stopped  riding 
past.  Then  I  climbed  through  the  window  and 
down  the  kitchen  roof,  and  let  myself  down  to 
the  ground.  Some  more  men  came  past,  and  I 
hid  on  the  porch  and  slipped  over  to  the.  horse 


A  Venture  in  the  Dark 

barns  and  found  a  hackamore,  and  went  down  to 
the  corral  and  hunted  around  till  I  found  this 
little  pinto — she's  the  best  to  ride  bareback." 

"I  could  ride  a  razorback — why  take  all  that 
trouble  for  me  ?" 

"If  you  don't  start  while  you  have  a  chance, 
you  undo  everything  I  have  tried  to  do  to  avoid 
a  fight." 

The  wind,  stirring  softly,  set  the  aspen  leaves 
quivering.  The  stars,  chilled  in  the  thin,  clear 
night  air,  hung  diamond-like  in  the  heavens  and 
the  eastern  sky  across  the  distant  desert  paled 
for  the  rising  moon.  The  two  standing  at  the 
horse's  head  listened  a  moment  together  in  the 
darkness.  De  Spain,  leaning  forward,  said  some 
thing  in  a  low,  laughing  voice.  Nan  made  no 
answer.  Then,  bending,  he  took  her  hand  and, 
before  she  could  release  it,  caught  it  up  to  his 
lips. 

For  a  long  time  after  he  had  gone  she  stood, 
listening  for  a  shot — wondering,  breathless  at 
moments,  whether  de  Spain  could  get  past  the 
waiting  traps.  The  moon  came  up,  and  still 
lingering,  torn  with  suspense,  she  watched  a  drift 
of  fleecy  clouds  darken  it.  She  scanned  anxiously 
the  wrinkled  face  of  the  desert  which,  with  a 
woman's  craft,  hides  at  night  the  accidents  of 

215 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

age.  It  seemed  to  Nan  as  if  she  could  overlook 
every  foot  of  the  motionless  sea  for  miles  before 
her;  but  she  well  knew  how  much  it  could  con 
ceal  of  ambush  and  death  even  when  it  professed 
so  fairly  to  reveal  all.  Strain  her  ears  as  she 
would,  the  desert  gave  back  no  ripple  of  sound. 
No  shot  echoed  from  its  sinister  recesses — not  even 
the  clatter  of  retreating  hoofs. 

De  Spain,  true  to  all  she  had  ever  heard  of  his 
Indian-like  stealth,  had  left  her  side  unabashed 
and  unafraid — living,  laughing,  paying  bold  court 
to  her  even  when  she  stubbornly  refused  to  be 
courted — and  had  made  himself  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  a  part  of  the  silence  beyond — the  silence 
of  the  night,  the  wind,  the  stars,  the  waste  of  sand, 
and  of  all  the  mystery  that  brooded  upon  it.  She 
would  have  welcomed,  in  her  keen  suspense,  a 
sound  of  some  kind,  some  reminder  that  he  yet 
lived  and  could  yet  laugh;  none  came. 

When  it  seemed  as  if  an  hour  must  have  passed 
Nan  felt  her  way  noiselessly  home.  She  regained 
her  room  as  she  had  left  it,  through  her  east  win 
dow,  and,  throwing  herself  across  her  bed,  fell 
into  a  heavy  sleep. 

Day  was  breaking  when  the  night  boss,  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway  at  the  Calabasas  barns,  saw  a 
horseman  riding  at  a  leisurely  pace  up  the  Thief 

216 


A  Venture  in  the  Dark 

River  road.  The  barnman  scrutinized  the  ap 
proaching  stranger  closely.  There  was  something 
strange  and  something  familiar  in  the  outlines  of 
the  figure.  But  when  the  night-rider  had  dis 
mounted  in  front  of  the  barn  door,  turned  his 
horse  loose,  and,  limping  stiffly,  walked  forward 
on  foot,  the  man  rubbed  his  eyes  hard  before  he 
could  believe  them.  Then  he  uttered  an  incred 
ulous  greeting  and  led  Henry  de  Spain  into  the 
barn  office. 

"There's  friends  of  yours  in  your  room  up 
stairs  right  now,"  he  declared,  bulging  with 
shock.  De  Spain,  sitting  down,  forbade  the  barn 
man  to  disturb  them,  only  asking  who  they  were. 

When  he  had  asked  half  a  dozen  more  leisurely 
questions  and  avoided  answering  twice  as  many, 
the  barnman  at  de  Spain's  request  helped  him 
up-stairs.  Beside  himself  with  excitement,  the 
night  boss  turned,  grinning,  as  he  laid  one  hand 
on  the  door-knob  and  the  other  on  de  Spain's 
shoulder. 

"You  couldn't  have  come,"  he  whispered  loudly, 
"at  a  better  time."1 

The  entryway  was  dark,  and  from  the  silence 
within  the  room  one  might  have  thought  its  occu 
pants,  if  there  were  such,  wrapped  in  slumber. 
But  at  intervals  a  faint  clicking  sound  could  be 
heard.  The  night  man  threw  open  the  door.  By 

217 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

the  light  of  two  stage  dash-lamps,  one  set  on  the 
dresser  and  the  other  on  a  window-ledge,  four 
men  sat  about  a  rickety  table  in  a  life-and-death 
struggle  at  cards.  No  voice  broke  the  tense  si 
lence,  not  even  when  the  door  was  thrown  broadly 
open. 

No  one — neither  Lefever,  Scott,  Frank  Elpaso, 
nor  McAlpin — looked  up  when  de  Spain  walked 
into  the  room  and,  with  the  night  man  tiptoeing 
behind,  advanced  composedly  toward  the  group. 
Even  then  his  presence  would  have  passed  unno 
ticed,  but  that  Bob  Scott's  ear  mechanically  re 
corded  the  limping  step  and  transmitted  to  his 
trained  intelligence  merely  notice  of  something 
unusual. 

Scott,  picking  up  his  cards  one  at  a  time  as 
Lefever  dealt,  raised  his  eyes.  Startling  as  the 
sight  of  the  man  given  up  for  dead  must  have 
been,  no  muscle  of  Bob  Scott's  body  moved.  His 
expression  of  surprise  slowly  dissolved  into  a  grin 
that  mutely  invited  the  others,  as  he  had  found 
out  for  himself,  to  find  out  for  themselves. 

Lefever  finished  his  deal,  threw  down  the  pack, 
and  picked  up  his  hand.  His  suspicious  eyes 
never  rose  above  the  level  of  the  faces  at  the 
table;  but  when  he  had  thumbed  his  cards  and 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  remaining 
players  to  read  the  weather-signals,  he  perceived 

218 


A  Venture  in  the  Dark 

on  Scott's  face  an  unwonted  expression,  and  looked 
to  where  the  scout's  gaze  was  turned  for  an  ex 
planation  of  it.  Lefever's  own  eyes  at  the  sight 
of  the  thinned,  familiar  face  behind  Elpaso's 
chair,  starting,  opened  like  full  moons.  The  big 
fellow  spread  one  hand  out,  his  cards  hidden  within 
it,  and  with  the  other  hand  prudently  drew  down 
his  pile  of  chips.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said  lightly, 
"this  game  is  interned."  He  rose  and  put  a 
silent  hand  across  the  table  over  Elpaso's  shoul 
der.  "Henry,"  he  exclaimed  impassively,  "one 
question,  if  you  please — and  only  one:  How  in 
thunder  did  you  do  it  ?" 


219 


CHAPTER  XVII 

STRATEGY 

week  went  to  repairs.  To  a  man  of  ao 
tion  such  a  week  is  longer  than  ten  years  of 
service.  But  chained  to  a  bed  in  the  Sleepy  Cat 
hospital,  de  Spain  had  no  escape  from  one  week 
of  thinking,  and  for  that  week  he  thought  about 
Nan  Morgan. 

He  rebelled  at  the  situation  that  had  placed 
him  at  enmity  with  her  kinsfolk,  yet  he  realized 
there  was  no  help  for  this.  The  Morgans  were 
a  law  unto  themselves.  Hardened  men  with  a 
hardened  code,  they  lived  in  their  fastness  like 
Ishmaelites.  Counselled  by  their  leader,  old  Duke 
Morgan,  brains  of  the  clan  and  influential  enough 
to  keep  outside  the  penalties  of  the  law  them 
selves,  their  understanding  with  the  outlaws  of 
the  Sinks  was  apparently  complete,  and  the  hos 
pitality  of  one  or  another  of  their  following  within 
the  Gap  afforded  a  refuge  for  practically  any 
mountain  criminal. 

But  none  of  these  reflections  lightened  de 
Spain's  burden  of  discontent.  One  thought  alone 

220 


Strategy 

possessed  him — Nan;  her  comely  body,  which  he 
worshipped  to  the  tips  of  her  graceful  fingers; 
her  alert  mind,  which  he  saw  reflected  in  the 
simplest  thought  she  expressed;  her  mobile  lips, 
which  he  followed  to  the  least  sound  they  gave 
forth  !  The  longer  he  pictured  her,  figured  as  she 
had  appeared  to  him  like  a  phantom  on  Music 
Mountain,  the  more  he  longed  to  be  back  at  the 
foot  of  it,  wounded  again  and  famished.  And  the 
impulse  that  moved  him  the  first  moment  he 
could  get  out  of  bed  and  into  a  saddle  was  to 
spur  his  way  hard  and  fast  to  her;  to  make  her, 
against  a  score  of  burly  cousins,  his  own;  and 
never  to  release  her  from  his  sudden  arms  again. 
With  de  Spain,  to  think  was  to  do;  at  least  to  do 
something,  but  not  without  further  careful  think 
ing,  and  not  without  anticipating  every  chance  of 
failure.  And  his  manner  was  to  cast  up  all  diffi 
culties  and  obstacles  in  a  situation,  brush  them 
aside,  and  have  his  will  if  the  heavens  fell.  Such 
a  temperament  he  had  inherited  from  his  father's 
fiery  heart  and  his  mother's  suffering,  close-set 
lips  as  he  had  remembered  them  in  the  little  pic 
tures  of  her;  and  he  now  set  himself,  while  doing 
his  routine  work  every  day,  to  do  one  particular 
thing — to  see,  talk  to,  plead  with,  struggle  with 
the  woman,  or  girl,  rather — child  even,  to  his 
thoughts,  so  fragile  she  was — this  girl  who  had 

221 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

given  him  back  his  life  against  her  own  marauding 
relatives. 

For  many  days  Nan  seemed  a  match  for  all 
the  wiles  de  Spain  could  use  to  catch  sight  of 
her.  He  spent  his  days  riding  up  and  down  the 
line  on  horseback;  driving  behind  his  team;  on 
the  stages;  in  and  out  of  the  streets  of  Sleepy  Cat 
— nominally  looking  for  stock,  for  equipment,  for 
supplies,  or  frankly  for  nothing — but  always  look 
ing  for  Nan. 

His  friends  saw  that  something  was  absorbing 
him  in  an  unusual,  even  an  extraordinary  way,  yet 
none  could  arrive  at  a  certain  conclusion  as  to 
what  it  was.  When  Scott  in  secret  conference 
was  appealed  to  by  Jeffries,  he  smiled  foolishly, 
at  a  loss,  and  shook  his  head. 

Lefever  argued  with  less  reticence.  "It  stands 
to  reason,  Jeffries.  A  man  that  went  through 
that  ten  minutes  at  Calabasas  would  naturally 
think  a  good  deal  about  what  he  is  getting  out  of 
his  job,  and  what  his  future  chances  are  for  being 
promoted  any  minute,  day  or  night,  by  a  forty- 
five." 

"Perhaps  his  salary  had  better  be  raised,"  con 
ceded  Jeffries  reflectively. 

"I  figure,"  pursued  Lefever,  "that  he  has  al 
ready  saved  the  company  fifty  thousands  in  depre 
dations  during  the  next  year  or  two.  The  Cala- 

222 


Strategy 

basas  gang  is  busted  for  five  years — they  would 
eat  out  of  his  hand — isn't  that  so,  Bob  ?" 

"The  Calabasas  gang,  yes;   not  the  Morgans/* 

John's  eyes  opened  on  Scott  with  that  solem 
nity  he  could  assume  to  bolster  a  baldly  uncon 
vincing  statement.  "Not  now,  Bob.  Not  now, 
I  admit;  but  they  will." 

Scott  only  smiled.  "What  do  you  make  out  of 
the  way  he  acts?"  persisted  Lefever,  resenting 
his  companion's  incredulity. 

"I  can't  make  anything  of  it,"  premised  Bob, 
"except  that  he  has  something  on  his  mind.  If 
you'll  tell  me  what  happened  from  the  time  he 
jumped  through  the  window  at  Calabasas  till  he 
walked  into  his  room  that  night  at  the  barn,  I'll 
tell  you  what  he's  thinking  about." 

"What  do  you  mean,  what  happened  ?" 

"Henry  left  some  things  out  of  his  story." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  heard  him  tell  it." 

Jeffries,  acting  without  delay  on  the  suspicion 
that  de  Spain  was  getting  ready  to  resign,  raised 
his  salary.  To  his  surprise,  de  Spain  told  him  that 
the  company  was  already  paying  him  more  than 
he  was  worth  and  declined  the  raise;  yet  he  took 
nobody  whomsoever  into  his  confidence. 

However,  the  scent  of  something  concealed  in 
de  Spain's  story  had  long  before  touched  Le- 

223 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

fever's  own  nostrils,  and  he  was  stimulated  by 
mere  pride  to  run  the  secret  down.  Accordingly, 
he  set  himself  to  find,  in  a  decent  way,  something 
in  the  nature  of  an  explanation. 

De  Spain,  in  the  interval,  made  no  progress  in 
his  endeavor  to  see  Nan.  The  one  man  in  the 
country  who  could  have  surmised  the  situation 
between  the  two — the  barn  boss,  McAlpin — if  he 
entertained  suspicions,  was  far  too  pawky  to 
share  them  with  any  one. 

When  two  weeks  had  passed  without  de  Spain's 
having  seen  Nan  or  having  heard  of  her  being 
seen,  the  conclusion  urged  itself  on  him  that  she 
was  either  ill  or  in  trouble — perhaps  in  trouble 
for  helping  him;  a  moment  later  he  was  laying 
plans  to  get  into  the  Gap  to  find  out. 

Nothing  in  the  way  of  a  venture  could  be  more 
foolhardy — this  he  admitted  to  himself — nothing, 
he  consoled  himself  by  reflecting,  but  something 
stronger  than  danger  could  justify  it.  Of  all  the 
motley  Morgan  following  within  the  mountain 
fastness  he  could  count  on  but  one  man  to  help 
him  in  the  slightest  degree — this  was  the  derelict, 
Bull  Page.  There  was  no  choice  but  to  use  him, 
and  he  was  easily  enlisted,  for  the  Calabasas  affair 
had  made  a  heroic  figure  of  de  Spain  in  the  bar 
rooms.  De  Spain,  accordingly,  lay  in  wait  for 
the  old  man  and  intercepted  him  one  day  on 

224 


Strategy 

the  road  to  Sleepy  Cat,  walking  the  twenty  miles 
patiently  for  his  whiskey. 

"You  must  be  the  only  man  in  the  Gap,  Bull, 
that  can't  borrow  or  steal  a  horse  to  ride,"  re 
marked  de  Spain,  stopping  him  near  the  river 
bridge. 

Page  pushed  back  the  broken  brim  of  his  hat 
and  looked  up.  "You  wouldn't  believe  it,"  he 
said,  imparting  a  cheerful  confidence,  "but  ten 
years  ago  I  had  horses  to  lend  to  every  man  'tween 
here  and  Thief  River."  He  nodded  toward  Sleepy 
Cat  with  a  wrecked  smile,  and  by  a  dramatic 
chance  the  broken  hat  brim  fell  with  the  words: 
"They've  got  'em  all." 

"Your  fault,  Bull." 

"Say!"  Up  went  the  broken  brim,  and  the 
whiskied  face  lighted  with  a  shaking  smile,  "you 
turned  some  trick  on  that  Calabasas  crew — some 
fight,"  Bull  chuckled. 

"Bull,  is  old  Duke  Morgan  a  Republican  ?" 

Bull  looked  surprised  at  the  turn  of  de  Spain's 
question,  but  answered  in  good  faith:  "Duke 
votes  'most  any  ticket  that's  agin  the  rail 
road." 

"How  about  picking  a  couple  of  good  barnmen 
over  in  the  Gap,  Bull  ?" 

"What  kind  of  a  job  y'  got  ?" 

"See  McAlpin  the  next  time  you're  over  at 
225 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Calabasas.  How  about  that  girl  that  lives  with 
Duke?" 

Bull's  face  lighted.  "Nan  !  Say  !  she's  a  little 
hummer!" 

"I  hear  she's  gone  down  to  Thief  River  teach 
ing  school." 

"Came  by  Duke's  less'n  three  hours  ago.  Seen 
her  in  the  kitchen  makin'  bread." 

"They're  looking  for  a  school-teacher  down 
there,  anyway.  Much  sickness  in  the  Gap  lately, 
Bull?" 

"On'y  sickness  I  knowed  lately  is  what  you're 
responsible  for  y'self,"  retorted  Bull  with  a  grin. 
"Pity  y'  left  over  any  chips  at  all  from  that  Cala 
basas  job,  eh  ?" 

"See  McAlpin,  Bull,  next  time  you're  over  Cala 
basas  way.  Here" — de  Spain  drew  some  cur 
rency  from  his  pocket  and  handed  a  bill  to  Page. 
"Go  get  your  hair  cut.  Don't  talk  too  much — 
wear  your  whiskers  long  and  your  tongue  short." 

"Right-o!" 

"You  understand." 

"Take  it  from  old  Bull  Page,  he's  a  world's 
wonder  of  a  sucker,  but  he  knows  his  friends." 

"But  remember  this — you  don't  know  me.  If 
anybody  knows  you  for  a  friend  of  mine,  you  are 
no  good  to  me.  See?" 

Bull  was  beyond  expressing  his  comprehension 
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Strategy 

in  words  alone.  He  winked,  nodded,  and  screwed 
his  face  into  a  thousand  wrinkles.  De  Spain, 
wheeling,  rode  away,  the  old  man  blinking  first 
after  him,  and  then  at  the  money  in  his  hand. 
He  didn't  profess  to  understand  everything  in  the 
high  country,  but  he  could  still  distinguish  the 
principal  figures  at  the  end  of  a  bank-note.  When 
he  tramped  to  Calabasas  the  next  day  to  inter 
view  McAlpin  he  received  more  advice,  with  a 
strong  burr,  about  keeping  his  own  counsel,  and 
a  little  expense  money  to  run  him  until  an  open 
ing  presented  itself  on  the  pay-roll. 

But  long  before  Bull  Page  reached  Calabasas 
that  day  de  Spain  had  acted.  When  he  left 
Bull  at  the  bridge,  he  started  for  Calabasas, 
took  supper  there,  ordered  a  saddle-horse  for  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  went  to  his  room,  slept 
soundly  and,  shortly  after  he  was  called,  started 
for  Music  Mountain.  He  walked  his  horse  into 
the  Gap  and  rode  straight  for  Duke  Morgan's 
fortress.  Leaving  the  horse  under  a  heavy  moun 
tain-pine  close  to  the  road,  de  Spain  walked  care 
fully  but  directly  around  the  house  to  the  east 
side.  The  sky  was  cloudy  and  the  darkness  al 
most  complete.  He  made  his  way  as  close  as  he 
could  to  Nan's  window,  and  raised  the  soft,  croon 
ing  note  of  the  desert  owl. 

After  a  while  he  was  able  to  distinguish  the  out- 
227 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

line  of  her  casement,  and,  with  much  patience  and 
some  little  skill  remaining  from  the  boyhood  days, 
he  kept  up  the  faint  call.  Down  at  the  big  barn 
the  chained  watch-dog  tore  himself  with  a  fury  of 
barking  at  the  intruder,  but  mountain-lions  were 
common  in  the  Gap,  and  the  noisy  sentinel  gained 
no  credit  for  his  alarm.  Indeed,  when  the  dog 
slackened  his  fierceness,  de  Spain  threw  a  stone 
over  his  way  to  encourage  a  fresh  outburst.  But 
neither  the  guardian  nor  the  intruder  was  able  to 
arouse  any  one  within  the  house. 

Undeterred  by  his  failure,  de  Spain  held  his 
ground  as  long  as  he  dared.  When  daybreak 
threatened,  he  withdrew.  The  following  night  he 
was  in  the  Gap  earlier,  and  with  renewed  deter 
mination.  He  tossed  a  pebble  into  Nan's  open 
window  and  renewed  his  soft  call.  Soon,  a  light 
flickered  for  an  instant  within  the  room  and  died 
out.  In  the  darkness  following  this,  de  Spain 
thought  he  discerned  a  figure  outlined  at  the 
casement.  Some  minutes  later  a  door  opened 
and  closed.  He  repeated  the  cry  of  the  owl,  and 
could  hear  a  footstep;  the  next  moment  he  whis 
pered  her  name  as  she  stood  before  him. 

"What  is  it  you  want?"  she  asked,  so  calmly 
that  it  upset  him.  "Why  do  you  come  here  ?" 

Where  he  stood  he  was  afraid  of  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  and  afraid  of  his  own.  "To  see  you," 

228 


Strategy 

he  said,  collecting  himself.     "Come  over  to  the 
pine-tree/' 

Under  its  heavy  branches  where  the  darkness 
was  most  intense,  he  told  her  why  he  had  come — 
because  he  could  not  see  her  anywhere  outside. 

"There  is  nothing  to  see  me  about,"  she  re 
sponded,  still  calm.  "I  helped  you  because  you 
were  wounded.  I  was  glad  to  see  you  get  away 
without  fighting — I  hate  bloodshed." 

"But  put  yourself  in  my  place  a  little,  won't 
you  ?  After  what  you  did  for  me,  isn't  it  natural 
I  should  want  to  be  sure  you  are  well  and  not  in 
any  trouble  on  my  account  ?" 

"It  may  be  natural,  but  it  isn't  necessary.  I 
am  in  no  trouble.  No  one  here  knows  I  even 
know  you." 

"Excuse  me  for  coming,  then.  I  couldn't  rest, 
Nan,  without  knowing  something.  I  was  here 
last  night." 

"I  know  you  were." 

He  started.     "You  made  no  sign." 

"Why  should  I  ?  I  suspected  it  was  you. 
When  you  came  again  to-night  I  knew  I  should 
have  to  speak  to  you — at  least,  to  ask  you  not  to 
come  again." 

"But  you  will  be  in  and  out  of  town  sometimes, 
won't  you,  Nan  ?" 

"If  I  am,  it  will  not  be  to  talk  with  you." 
229 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

The  words  were  spoken  deliberately.  De  Spain 
was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Not  even  to  speak  to 
me  ?"  he  asked. 

"You  must  know  the  position  I  am  in/*  she  an 
swered.  "And  what  a  position  you  place  me  in 
if  I  am  seen  to  speak  to  you.  This  is  my  home. 
You  are  the  enemy  of  my  people." 

"Not  because  I  want  to  be." 

"And  you  can't  expect  them  not  to  resent  any 
acquaintance  on  my  part  with  you." 

He  paused  before  continuing.  "Do  you  count 
Gale  Morgan  as  one  of  your  people?"  he  asked 
evenly. 

"I  suppose  I  must." 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  count  all  of 
your  friends,  your  well-wishers,  those  who  would 
defend  you  with  their  lives,  among  your  people  ?" 
She  made  no  answer.  "Aren't  they  the  kind  of 
people,"  he  persisted,  "you  need  when  you  are  in 
trouble?" 

"You  needn't  remind  me  I  should  be  grateful 
to  you ' 

"Nan!"  he  exclaimed. 

"For  I  am,"  she  continued,  unmoved. 
"But- 

"It's  a  shame  to  accuse  me  in  that  way." 

"You  were  thinking  when  you  spoke  of  what 
happened  with  Gale  on  Music  Mountain." 

230 


Strategy 

"I  wish  to  God  you  and  I  were  on  Music  Moun 
tain  again  !  I  never  lived  or  did  anything  worth 
living  for,  till  you  came  to  me  that  day  on  Music 
Mountain.  It's  true  I  was  thinking  of  what  hap 
pened  when  I  spoke — but  not  to  remind  you  you 
owed  anything  to  me.  You  don't;  get  that  out 
of  your  head." 

"I  do,  though." 

"I  spoke  in  the  way  I  did  because  I  wanted  to 
remind  you  of  what  might  happen  some  time 
when  I'm  not  near." 

"I  shan't  be  caught  off  my  guard  again.  I 
know  how  to  defend  myself  from  a  drunken 


man." 


He  could  not  restrain  all  the  bitterness  he  felt. 
"That  man,"  he  said  deliberately,  "is  more  danger 
ous  sober  than  drunk." 

"When  I  can't  defend  myself,  my  uncle  will 
defend  me." 

"Ask  him  to  let  me  help." 

"He  doesn't  need  any  help.  And  he  would 
never  ask  you,  if  he  did.  I  can't  live  at  home  and 
know  you;  that  is  why  I  ask  you  not  to  come 
again." 

He  was  silent.  "Don't  you  think,  all  things 
considered,"  she  hesitated,  as  if  not  knowing  how 
easiest  to  put  it,  "you  ought  to  be  willing  to  shake 
hands  and  say  good-by?" 

231 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Why,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  answered,  taken 
aback.  And  he  added  more  quietly,  "yes,  if  you 
say  so." 

"I  mean  for  good." 

"I—  "  he  returned,  pausing,  "don't." 

"You  are  not  willing  to  be  fair." 

"I  want  to  be  fair — I  don't  want  to  promise 
more  than  human  nature  will  stand  for — and  then 
break  my  word." 

"I  am  not  asking  a  whole  lot." 

"Not  a  whole  lot  to  you,  I  know.  But  do  you 
really  mean  that  you  don't  want  me  ever  to 
speak  to  you  again  ?" 

"If  you  must  put  it  that  way — yes." 

"Well,"  he  took  a  long  breath,  "there  is  one 
way  to  make  sure  of  that.  I'll  tell  you  honestly 
I  don't  want  to  stand  in  the  way  of  such  a  wish, 
if  it's  really  yours.  As  you  have  said,  it  isn't  fair, 
perhaps,  for  me  to  go  against  it.  Got  your  pistol 
with  you,  Nan  ?" 

"No." 

"That  is  the  way  you  take  care  of  yourself,  is 
it?" 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  you." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  not  to 
be.  And  you  don't  even  know  whom  you'll 
meet  before  you  can  lock  the  front  door  again. 
You  promised  me  never  to  go  out  without  it. 

232 


Strategy 

Promise  me  that  once  more,  will  you  ?"  She  did 
as  he  asked  her.  "Now,  give  me  your  hand, 
please,"  he  went  on.  "Take  hold  of  this." 

"What  is  it?" 

"The  butt  of  my  revolver.  Don't  be  afraid." 
She  heard  the  slight  click  of  the  hammer  with  a 
thrill  of  strange  apprehension.  "What  are  you 
doin^?"  she  demanded  hurriedly. 

"Put  your  finger  on  the  trigger — so.  It  is 
cocked.  Now  pull." 

She  caught  her  breath.     "What  do  you  mean  ?" 

He  was  holding  the  gun  in  his  two  hands,  his 
fingers  overlapping  hers,  the  muzzle  at  the  breast 
of  his  jacket.  "Pull,"  he  repeated,  "that's  all 
you  have  to  do;  I'm  steadying  it/' 

She  snatched  back  her  hand.  "What  do  you 
mean?"  she  cried.  "For  me  to  kill  you? 
Shame!" 

"You  are  too  excited — all  I  asked  you  was  to 
take  the  trouble  to  crook  your  finger — and  I'll 
never  speak  to  you  again — you'll  have  your  wish 
forever." 

"Shame!" 

"Why  shame?"  he  retorted.  "I  mean  what  I 
say.  If  you  meant  what  you  said,  why  don't 
you  put  it  out  of  my  power  ever  to  speak  to  you  ? 
Do  you  want  me  to  pull  the  trigger  ?" 

"I  told  you  once  I'm  not  an  assassin — how  dare 
233 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

you  ask  me  to  do  such  a  thing?"  she  cried  furi 
ously. 

"Call  your  uncle/'  he  suggested  coolly.  "You 
may  hold  this  meantime  so  you'll  know  he's  in 
no  danger.  Take  my  gun  and  call  your  uncle " 

"Shame  on  you !" 

"Call  Gale — call  any  man  in  the  Gap — they'll 
jump  at  the  chance." 

"You  are  a  cold-blooded,  brutal  wretch — I'm 
sorry  I  ever  helped  you — I'm  sorry  I  ever  let  you 
help  me — I'm  sorry  I  ever  saw  you !" 

She  sprang  away  before  he  could  interpose  a 
word.  He  stood  stunned  by  the  suddenness  of 
her  outburst,  trying  to  listen  and  to  breathe  at 
the  same  time.  He  heard  the  front  door  close, 
and  stood  waiting.  But  no  further  sound  from 
the  house  greeted  his  ears. 

"And  I  thought,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"that  might  calm  her  down  a  little.  I'm  cer 
tainly  in  wrong,  now." 


234 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HER    BAD    PENNY 

reached  her  room  in  a  fever  of  excite 
ment,  angry  at  de  Spain,  bitterly  angry  at 
Gale,  angry  with  the  mountains,  the  world,  and 
resentfully  fighting  the  pillow  on  which  she  cried 
herself  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning  every  nerve  was  on  edge.  When 
her  Uncle  Duke,  with  his  chopping  utterance,  said 
something  short  to  her  at  their  very  early  break 
fast  he  was  surprised  by  an  answer  equally  short. 
Her  uncle  retorted  sharply.  A  second  curt  an 
swer  greeted  his  rebuff,  and  while  he  stared  at 
her,  Nan  left  the  table  and  the  room. 

Duke,  taking  two  of  the  men,  started  that 
morning  for  Sleepy  Cat  with  a  bunch  of  cattle. 
He  rode  a  fractious  horse,  as  he  always  did,  and 
this  time  the  horse,  infuriated  as  his  horses  fre 
quently  were  by  his  brutal  treatment,  bolted  in  a 
moment  unguarded  by  his  master,  and  flung  Duke 
on  his  back  in  a  strip  of  lava  rocks. 

The  old  man — in  the  mountains  a  man  is  called 
old  after  he  passes  forty — was  heavy,  and  the  fall 
a  serious  one.  He  picked  himself  up  while  the 

235 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

men  were  recovering  his  horse,  knocked  the  horse 
over  with  a  piece  of  jagged  rock  when  the  fright 
ened  beast  was  brought  back,  climbed  into  the 
saddle  again,  and  rode  all  the  way  into  town. 

But  when  his  business  was  done,  Duke,  too, 
was  done.  He  could  neither  sit  a  horse,  nor  sit 
in  a  wagon.  Doctor  Torpy,  after  an  examina 
tion,  told  him  he  was  booked  for  the  hospital.  A 
stream  of  profane  protest  made  no  difference  with 
his  adviser,  and,  after  many  threats  and  hard 
words,  to  the  hospital  the  hard-shelled  moun 
taineer  was  taken.  *  Sleepy  Cat  was  stirred  at  the 
news,  and  that  the  man  who  had  defied  everybody 
in  the  mountains  for  twenty  years  should  have 
been  laid  low  and  sent  to  the  hospital  by  a  mere 
bronco  was  the  topic  of  many  comments. 

The  men  that  had  driven  the  cattle  with  Duke, 
having  been  paid  off,  were  now  past  getting  home, 
and  there  were  no  telephones  in  the  Gap.  De 
Spain,  who  was  at  Calabasas,  knew  Nan  would 
not  be  alarmed  should  her  uncle  not  return  that 
night.  But  early  in  the  morning  a  messenger 
from  McAlpin  rode  to  her  with  a  note,  telling  her 
of  the  accident. 

Whatever  his  vices,  Duke  had  been  a  good  pro 
tector  to  his  dead  brother's  child.  He  had  sent 
her  to  good  schools  and  tried  to  revive  in  her,  de 
spite  her  untoward  surroundings,  the  better  tra- 

236 


Her  Bad  Penny 

ditions  of  the  family  as  it  had  once  flourished  in 
Kentucky.  Nan  took  the  saddle  for  Sleepy  Cat 
in  haste  and  alarm.  When  she  reached  her 
uncle's  bedside  she  understood  how  seriously  he 
had  been  hurt,  and  the  doctor's  warnings  were 
not  needed  to  convince  her  he  must  have  care. 

Duke  refused  to  let  her  leave  him,  in  any  case, 
and  Nan  relieved  the  nurse,  and  what  was  of 
equal  moment,  made  herself  custodian  of  the  cash 
in  hand  before  Duke's  town  companions  could 
get  hold  of  it.  Occasional  trips  to  the  Gap  were 
necessary  as  the  weeks  passed  and  her  uncle 
could  not  be  moved.  These  Nan  had  feared  as 
threatening  an  encounter  either  by  accident,  or 
on  his  part  designed,  with  de  Spain.  But  the 
impending  encounter  never  took  place.  De  Spain, 
attending  closely  to  his  own  business,  managed 
to  keep  accurate  track  of  her  whereabouts  with 
out  getting  in  her  way.  She  had  come  to  Sleepy 
Cat  dreading  to  meet  him  and  fearing  his  influ 
ence  over  her,  but  this  apprehension,  with  the 
passing  of  a  curiously  brief  period,  dissolved  into 
a  confidence  in  her  ability  to  withstand  further 
interference,  on  any  one's  part,  with  her  feelings. 

Gale  Morgan  rode  into  town  frequently,  and 
Nan  at  first  painfully  apprehended  hearing  some 
time  of  a  deadly  duel  between  her  truculent  Gap 
admirer  and  her  persistent  town  courtier — who 

237 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

was  more  considerate  and  better-mannered,  but 
no  less  dogged  and,  in  fact,  a  good  deal  more  diffi 
cult  to  handle. 

As  to  the  boisterous  mountain-man,  his  resolute 
little  cousin  made  no  secret  of  her  detestation  of 
him.  She  denied  and  defied  him  as  openly  as  a 
girl  could  and  heard  his  threats  with  continued 
indifference.  She  was  quite  alone,  too,  in  her 
fear  of  any  fatal  meeting  between  the  two  men 
who  seemed  determined  to  pursue  her. 

The  truth  was  that  after  Calabasas,  de  Spain, 
from  Thief  River  to  Sleepy  Cat,  was  a  marked 
man.  None  sought  to  cross  his  path  or  his  pur 
poses.  Every  one  agreed  he  would  yet  be  killed, 
but  not  the  hardiest  of  the  men  left  to  attack  him 
cared  to  undertake  the  job  themselves.  The 
streets  of  the  towns  and  the  trails  of  the  moun 
tains  were  free  as  the  wind  to  de  Spain.  And 
neither  the  town  haunts  of  Calabasas  men  nor 
those  of  their  Morgan  Gap  sympathizers  had  any 
champion  disposed  to  follow  too  closely  the  alert 
Medicine  Bend  railroader. 

In  and  about  the  hospital,  and  in  the  town 
itself,  Nan  found  the  chief  obstacle  to  her  peace 
of  mind  in  the  talk  she  could  not  always  avoid 
hearing  about  de  Spain.  Convalescents  in  the  cor 
ridors,  practically  all  of  them  men,  never  gath 
ered  in  sunny  corners  or  at  the  tables  in  the  din- 

238 


Her  Bad  Penny 

ing-room  without  de  Spam's  name  coming  in  some 
way  into  the  talk,  to  be  followed  with  varying 
circumstantial  accounts  of  what  really  had  hap 
pened  that  day  at  Calabasas. 

And  with  all  the  known  escapades  in  which  he 
had  figured,  exhausted  as  topics,  by  long-winded 
commentators,  more  or  less  hazy  stories  of  his 
earlier  experiences  at  Medicine  Bend  in  the  com 
pany  of  Whispering  Smith  were  dragged  into  the 
talk.  One  convalescent  stage-guard  at  the  hospital 
told  a  story  one  night  at  supper  about  him  that 
chilled  Nan  again  with  strange  fears,  for  she  knew 
it  to  be  true.  He  had  had  it  from  McAlpin  him 
self,  so  the  guard  said,  that  de  Spain's  father  had 
long  ago  been  shot  down  from  ambush  by  a  cat 
tleman  and  that  Henry  de  Spain  had  sworn  to 
find  that  man  and  kill  him.  And  it  was  hinted 
pretty  strongly  that  de  Spain  had  information 
when  he  consented  to  come  to  Sleepy  Cat  that 
the  assassin  still  lived,  and  lived  somewhere 
around  the  head  of  the  Sinks. 

That  night,  Nan  dreamed.  She  dreamed  of  a 
sinister  mark  on  a  face  that  she  had  never  before 
seen — a  face  going  into  bronzed  young  manhood 
with  quick  brown  eyes  looking  eagerly  at  her. 
And  before  her  wondering  look  it  faded,  dream 
like,  into  a  soft  mist,  and  where  it  had  been,  a  man 
lay,  lifting  himself  on  one  arm  from  the  ground — 

239 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

his  sleeve  tattered,  his  collar  torn,  his  eyes  half- 
living,  half-dead,  his  hair  clotted,  his  lips  stiffened 
and  distended,  his  face  drawn.  And  all  of  this 
dissolved  into  an  image  of  de  Spain  on  horseback, 
sudden,  alert,  threatening,  looking  through  the 
mist  at  an  enemy.  Then  Nan  heard  the  sharp  re 
port  of  a  rifle  and  saw  him  whirl  half  around- 
struck- — in  his  saddle,  and  fall.  But  he  fell  into 
her  arms,  and  she  woke  sobbing  violently. 

She  was  upset  for  the  whole  day,  moody  and 
apprehensive,  with  a  premonition  that  she  should 
soon  see  de  Spain — and,  perhaps,  hurt  again. 
The  dream  unnerved  her  every  time  she  thought 
of  him.  That  evening  the  doctor  came  late. 
When  he  walked  in  he  asked  her  if  she  knew  it 
was  Frontier  Day,  and  reminded  her  that  just  a 
year  ago  she  had  shot  against  Henry  de  Spain  and 
beaten  the  most  dangerous  man  and  the  deadliest 
shot  on  the  mountain  divide  in  her  rifle  match. 
How  he  had  grown  in  the  imagination  of  Sleepy 
Cat  and  Music  Mountain,  she  said  to  herself — 
while  the  doctor  talked  to  her  uncle — since  that 
day  a  year  ago !  Then  he  was  no  more  than  an 
unknown  and  discomfited  marksman  from  Medi 
cine  Bend,  beaten  by  a  mountain  girl:  now  the 
most  talked-of  man  in  the  high  country.  And  the 
suspicion  would  sometimes  obtrude  itself  with 
pride  into  her  mind,  that  she  who  never  men- 

240 


Her  Bad  Penny 

tioned  his  name  when  it  was  discussed  before 
her,  really  knew  and  understood  him  better  than 
any  of  those  that  talked  so  much — that  she  had 
at  least  one  great  secret  with  him  alone. 

When  leaving,  the  doctor  wished  to  send  over 
from  his  office  medicine  for  her  uncle.  Nan  of 
fered  to  go  with  him,  but  the  doctor  said  it  was 
pretty  late  and  Main  Street  pretty  noisy:  he  pre 
ferred  to  find  a  messenger. 

Nan  was  sitting  in  the  sick-room  a  little  later — 
6-19  in  the  old  wing  of  the  hospital,  facing  the 
mountains — when  there  came  a  rap  on  the  half- 
open  door.  She  went  forward  to  take  the  medi 
cine  from  the  messenger  and  saw,  standing  before 
her  in  the  hall,  de  Spain. 

She  shrank  back  as  if  struck.  She  tried  to 
speak.  Her  tongue  refused  its  office.  De  Spain 
held  a  package  out  in  his  hand.  "Doctor  Torpy 
asked  me  to  give  you  this." 

"Doctor  Torpy  ?    What  is  it  ?" 

"I  really  don't  know — I  suppose  it  is  medicine." 
She  heard  her  uncle  turn  in  his  bed  at  the  sound 
of  voices.  Thinking  only  that  he  must  not  at 
any  cost  see  de  Spain,  Nan  stepped  quickly  into 
the  hall  and  faced  the  messenger.  "I  was  over 
at  the  doctor's  office  just  now,"  continued  her 
visitor  evenly,  "he  asked  me  to  bring  this  down 
for  your  uncle."  She  took  the  package  with  an 

241 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

incoherent  acknowledgment.  Without  letting  her 
eyes  meet  his,  she  was  conscious  of  how  fresh  and 
clean  and  strong  he  looked,  dressed  in  a  livelier 
manner  than  usual — a  partly  cowboy  effect,  with 
a  broader  Stetson  and  a  gayer  tie  than  he  ordi 
narily  affected.  De  Spain  kept  on  speaking: 
"The  telephone  girl  in  the  office  down-stairs  told 
me  to  come  right  up.  How  is  your  uncle  ?" 

She  regarded  him  wonderingly:  "He  has  a 
good  deal  of  pain,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"Too  bad  he  should  have  been  hurt  in  such  a 
way.  Are  you  pretty  well,  Nan  ?"  She  thanked 
him. 

"Have  you  got  over  being  mad  at  me?"  he 
asked. 

"No,"  she  averred  resolutely. 

"I'm  glad  you're  not,"  he  returned,  "I'm  not 
over  being  mad  at  myself.  Haven't  seen  you 
for  a  long  time.  Stay  here  a  good  deal,  do  you  ?" 

"All   the   time." 

"I'll  bet  you  don't  know  what  day  this  is  ?" 

Nan  looked  up  the  corridor,  but  she  answered 
to  the  point:  "You'd  lose." 

"It's  our  anniversary."  She  darted  a  look  of 
indignant  disclaimer  at  him.  But  in  doing  so 
she  met  his  eyes.  "Have  you  seen  the  decora 
tions  in  Main  Street?"  he  asked  indifferently. 
"Come  out  for  a  minute  and  look  at  them." 

242 


Her  Bad  Penny 

She  shook  her  head:  "I  don't  care  to,"  she 
answered,  looking  restlessly,  this  time,  down  the 
corridor. 

"Come  to  the  door  just  a  minute  and  see  the 
way  they've  lighted  the  arches."  She  knew  just 
the  expression  of  his  eyes  that  went  with  that 
tone.  She  looked  vexedly  at  him  to  confirm  her 
suspicion.  Sure  enough  there  in  the  brown  part 
and  in  the  lids,  it  was,  the  most  troublesome  pos 
sible  kind  of  an  expression — hard  to  be  resolute 
against.  Her  eyes  fell  away,  but  some  damage 
had  been  done.  He  did  not  say  another  word. 
None  seemed  necessary.  He  just  kept  still  and 
something — no  one  could  have  said  just  what — 
seemed  to  talk  for  him  to  poor  defenseless  Nan. 
She  hesitated  helplessly:  "I  can't  leave  uncle," 
she  objected  at  last. 

"Ask  him  to  come  along." 

Her  eyes  fluttered  about  the  dimly  lighted 
hall:  de  Spain  gazed  on  her  as  steadily  as  a 
charmer.  "I  ought  not  to  leave  even  for  a  min 
ute,"  she  protested  weakly. 

"I'll  stay  here  at  the  door  while  you  go." 

Irresolute,  she  let  her  eyes  rest  again  for  a 
fraction  of  a  second  on  his  eyes;  when  she  drew 
a  breath  after  that  pause  everything  was  over. 
"I'd  better  give  him  his  medicine  first,"  she  said, 
looking  toward  the  sick-room  door. 

243 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

His  monosyllabic  answer  was  calm:  "Do." 
Then  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the 
door  to  enter  the  room:  "Can  I  help  any?" 

"Oh,  no!"  she  cried  indignantly. 

He  laughed  silently:     'Til  stay  here." 

Nan  disappeared.  Lounging  against  the  win 
dow-sill  opposite  the  door,  he  waited.  After  a 
long  time  the  door  was  stealthily  reopened.  Nan 
tiptoed  out.  She  closed  it  softly  behind  her:  "I 
waited  for  him  to  go  to  sleep,"  she  explained  as  she 
started  down  the  corridor  with  de  Spain.  "He's 
had  so  much  pain  to-day:  I  hope  he  will  sleep." 

"I  hope  so,  too,"  exclaimed  de  Spain  fervently. 

Nan  ignored  the  implication.  She  looked 
straight  ahead.  She  had  nothing  to  say.  De 
Spain,  walking  beside  her,  devoured  her  with  his 
eyes;  listened  to  her  footfalls;  tried  to  make 
talk;  but  Nan  was  silent. 

Standing  on  the  wide  veranda  outside  the 
front  door,  she  assented  to  the  beauty  of  the  dis 
tant  illumination  but  not  enthusiastically.  De 
Spain  declared  it  could  be  seen  very  much  better 
from  the  street  below.  Nan  thought  she  could 
see  very  well  where  they  stood.  But  by  this 
time  she  was  answering  questions — dryly,  it  is 
true  and  in  monosyllables,  but  answering.  De 
Spain  leading  the  way  a  step  or  two  forward  at  a 
time,  coaxed  her  down  the  driveway. 

244 


Her  Bad  Penny 

She  stood  again  irresolute,  he  drinking  in  the 
fragrance  of  her  presence  after  the  long  separa 
tion  and  playing  her  reluctance  guardedly.  "Do 
you  know,"  she  exclaimed  with  sudden  resent 
ment,  "you  make  it  awfully  hard  to  be  mean  to 
you?" 

With  a  laugh  he  caught  her  hand  and  made  her 
walk  down  the  hospital  steps.  "You  may  be  as 
mean  as  you  like,"  he  answered  indifferently. 
"Only,  never  ask  me  to  be  mean  to  you." 

"I  wish  to  heaven  you  would  be,"  she  re 
torted. 

"Do  you  remember,"  he  asked,  "what  we  were 
doing  a  year  ago  to-day  ?" 

"No."  Before  he  could  speak  again  she  changed 
her  answer:  "Yes,  I  do  remember.  If  I  said  'no' 
you'd  be  sure  to  remind  me  of  what  we  were  do 
ing.  We  can't  see  as  well  here  as  we  could  from 
the  steps." 

"But  from  here,  you  have  the  best  view  in 
Sleepy  Cat  of  Music  Mountain." 

"We  didn't  come  out  here  to  see  Music  Moun 


tain." 


"I  come  here  often  to  look  at  it.  You  won't 
let  me  see  you — what  can  I  do  but  look  at  where 
you  live?  How  long  are  you  going  to  keep  me 
away  from  you  ?" 

Nan  did  not  answer.  He  urged  her  to  speak. 
245 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"You  know  very  well  it  is  my  people  that  will 
never  be  friendly  with  you,"  she  replied.  "How 
can  I  be?" 

They  were  passing  a  lawn  settee.  He  sat  down. 
She  would  not  follow.  She  stood  in  a  sort  of  pro 
test  at  his  side,  but  he  did  not  release  her  hand. 
"I'll  tell  you  how  you  can  be,"  he  returned. 
"Make  me  one  of  your  people." 

"That  never  can  be,"  she  declared  stubbornly. 
"You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do.  Why  do  you  say 
such  things?"  she  demanded,  drawing  away  her 
hand. 

"Do  you  want  to  know?" 

"No." 

"It's  because  I  love  you." 

She  strove  to  command  herself:  "Whether 
you  do  or  not  can't  make  any  difference,"  she 
returned  steadily.  "We  are  separated  by  every 
thing.  There's  a  gulf  between  us.  It  never  can 
be  crossed.  We  should  both  of  us  be  wretched  if 
it  ever  were  crossed." 

He  had  risen  from  the  bench  and  caught  her 
hand:  "It's  because  we  haven't  crossed  it  we're 
wretched,"  he  said  determinedly.  "Cross  it  with 
me  now!"  He  caught  her  in  his  arms.  She 
struggled  to  escape.  She  knew  what  was  coming 
and  fought  to  keep  her  face  from  him.  With  re 
sistless  strength  and  yet  carefully  as  a  mother 

246 


Her  Bad  Penny 

with  an  obstinate  child,  he  held  her  slight  body 
against  his  breast,  relentlessly  drawing  her  head 
closer.  "Let  me  go!"  she  panted,  twisting  her 
averted  head  from  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  Drink 
ing  in  the  wine  of  her  frightened  breath,  he  bent 
over  her  in  the  darkness  until  his  pulsing  eager 
ness  linked  her  warm  lips  to  his  own.  She  had 
surrendered  to  his  first  kiss. 

He  spoke.  "The  gulf's  crossed.  Are  you  so 
awfully  wretched  ? " 

They  sank  together  down  on  the  bench. 
"What,"  she  faltered,  "will  become  of  me  now  ?" 

"You  are  better  off  now  than  you  ever  were, 
Nan.  You've  gained  this  moment  a  big  brother, 
a  lover  you  can  drag  around  the  world  after  you 
with  a  piece  of  thread." 

"You  act  as  if  I  could!" 

"I  mean  it:  it's  true.  I'm  pledged  to  you  for 
ever — you,  to  me,  forever.  We'll  keep  our  secret 
till  we  can  manage  things;  and  we  will  manage 
them.  Everything  will  come  right,  Nan,  because 
everything  must  come  right." 

"I  only  hope  you  are  not  wrong,"  she  mur 
mured,  her  eyes  turned  toward  the  sombre  moun 
tains. 


247 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DANGER 

T171TH  never  such  apprehension,  never  such 
stealth,  never  so  heavy  a  secret,  so  sensi 
ble  a  burning  in  cheek  and  eye,  as  when  she  tip 
toed  into  her  uncle's  room  at  midnight,  Nan's 
heart  beat  as  the  wings  of  a  bird  beat  from  the 
broken  door  of  a  cage  into  a  forbidden  sky  of  hap 
piness.  She  had  left  the  room  a  girl;  she  came 
back  to  it  a  woman. 

Sleep  she  did  not  expect  or  even  ask  for;  the 
night  was  all  too  short  to  think  of  those  tense, 
fearful  moments  that  had  pledged  her  to  her 
lover.  When  the  anxieties  of  her  situation  over 
whelmed  her,  as  they  would  again  and  again,  she 
felt  herself  in  the  arms  of  this  strange,  resolute 
man  whom  all  her  own  hated  and  whom  she 
knew  she  already  loved  beyond  all  power  to  put 
away.  In  her  heart,  she  had  tried  this  more  than 
once:  she  knew  she  could  not,  would  not  ever  do 
it,  or  even  try  to  do  it,  again. 

She  rejoiced  in  his  love.  She  trusted.  When 
he  spoke  she  believed  this  man  whom  no  one 
around  her  would  believe;  and  she,  who  never  had 

248 


Danger 

believed  what  other  men  avowed,  and  who  de 
tested  their  avowals,  believed  de  Spain,  and  se 
cretly,  guiltily,  glowed  in  every  word  of  his  devo 
tion  and  breathed  faint  in  its  every  caress. 

Night  could  hardly  come  fast  enough,  after 
the  next  long  day.  A  hundred  times  during  that 
day  she  reminded  herself,  while  the  slow,  majes 
tic  sun  shone  simmering  on  the  hot  desert,  that 
she  had  promised  to  steal  out  into  the  grounds  the 
minute  darkness  fell — he  would  be  waiting.  A 
hundred  times  in  the  long  afternoon,  Nan  looked 
into  the  cloudless  western  sky  and  with  puny 
eager  hands  would  have  pushed  the  lagging  orb 
on  its  course  that  she  might  sooner  give  herself 
into  the  arms  where  she  felt  her  place  so  sure,  her 
honor  so  safe,  her  helplessness  so  protected,  her 
self  so  loved. 

How  her  cheeks  burned  after  supper  when  she 
asked  her  uncle  for  leave  to  post  a  letter  down 
town  !  How  breathless  with  apprehension  she 
halted  as  de  Spain  stepped  from  the  shadow  of 
the  trees  and  drew  her  importunately  beneath 
them  for  the  kiss  that  had  burned  on  her  troubled 
lips  all  day !  How,  girl-like,  knowing  his  caresses 
were  all  her  own — knowing  she  could  at  an  in 
stant  call  forth  enough  to  smother  her — she 
tyrannized  his  importuning  and,  like  a  lovely 
miser,  hoarded  her  responsiveness  under  calm 

249 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

eyes  and  laconic  whispers  until,  when  she  did  give 
back  his  eagerness,  she  made  his  senses  reel. 

How  dreamily  she  listened  to  every  word  he  let 
fall  in  his  outpouring  of  devotion;  how  gravely 
she  put  up  her  hand  to  restrain  his  busy  intru 
sion,  and  asked  if  he  knew  that  no  man  in  the 
world,  least  of  all  her  fierce  and  burly  cousin,  had 
ever  touched  her  lips  until  he  himself  forced  a 
kiss  on  them  the  night  before:  "And  now!"  She 
hid  her  face  against  his  shoulder.  "Oh,  Henry, 
how  I  love  you !  I'm  so  ashamed,  I  couldn't  tell 
you  if  it  weren't  night:  I'll  never  look  you  in  the 
face  again  in  the  daytime." 

And  when  he  told  her  how  little  he  himself  had 
had  to  do  with,  and  how  little  he  knew  about 
girls,  even  from  boyhood,  how  she  feigned  not  to 
believe,  and  believed  him  still !  They  were  two 
children  raised  in  the  magic  of  an  hour  to  the 
supreme  height  of  life  and  dizzy  together  on  its 
summit. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  care  for  me,  Henry. 
Oh,  I  mean  it,"  she  protested,  holding  her  head 
resolutely  up.  uYou  know  who  we  are,  away  off 
there  in  the  mountains.  Every  one  hates  us;  I 
suppose  they've  plenty  of  reason  to:  we  hate 
everybody  else.  And  why  shouldn't  we  ?  We're 
at  war  with  every  one.  You  know,  better  than  I 
do,  what  goes  on  in  the  Gap.  I  don't  want  to 

250 


Danger 

know;  I  try  not  to  know;  Uncle  Duke  tries  to 
keep  things  from  me.  When  you  began  to  act- 
as  if  you  cared  for  me — that  day  on  Music — I 
couldn't  believe  you  meant  it  at  all.  And  yet — 
I'm  afraid  I  liked  to  try  to  think  you  did.  When 
you  looked  at  me  I  felt  as  if  you  could  see  right 
through  me." 

Confidences  never  came  to  an  end. 

And  diplomacy  came  into  its  own  almost  at 
once  in  de  Spain's  efforts  to  improve  his  relations 
with  the  implacable  Duke.  The  day  came  when 
Nan's  uncle  could  be  taken  home.  De  Spain  sent 
to  him  a  soft-spoken  emissary,  Bob  Scott,  offer 
ing  to  provide  a  light  stage,  with  his  compli 
ments,  for  the  trip.  The  intractable  mountain 
eer,  with  his  refusal  to  accept  the  olive-branch, 
blew  Bob  out  of  the  room.  Nan  was  crushed  by 
the  result,  but  de  Spain  was  not  to  be  dismayed. 

Lefever  came  to  him  the  day  after  Nan  had 
got  her  uncle  home.  "Henry,"  he  began  with 
out  any  preliminaries,  "there  is  one  thing  about 
your  precipitate  ride  up  Music  Mountain  that  I 
never  got  clear  in  my  mind.  After  the  fight,  your 
cartridge-belt  was  hanging  up  in  the  barn  at 
Calabasas  for  two  weeks.  You  walked  in  to  us 
that  morning  with  your  belt  buckled  on.  You 
told  us  you  put  it  on  before  you  came  up-stairs. 
What  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  Henry.  But  that  belt 

251 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

wasn't  hanging  down-stairs  with  your  coat  ear 
lier  in  the  evening.  No,  Henry:  it  wasn't,  not 
when  I  looked.  Don't  tell  me  such  things,  be 
cause — I  don't  know.  Where  was  the  belt  when 
you  found  it  ?" 

"Some  distance  from  the  coat,  John.  I  admit 
that.  I'll  tell  you:  some  one  had  moved  the  belt. 
It  was  not  where  I  left  it.  I  was  hurried  the 
morning  I  rode  in  and  I  can't  tell  you  just  where 
I  found  it." 

Lefever  never  batted  an  eyelash.  "I  know  you 
can't,  Henry.  Because  you  won't.  That  Scotch 
hybrid  McAlpin  knows  a  few  things,  too,  that 
he  won't  tell.  All  I  want  to  say  is,  you  can  trust 
that  man  too  far.  He's  got  all  my  recent  salary. 
Every  time  Jeffries  raises  my  pay  that  hairy- 
pawed  horse-doctor  reduces  it  just  so  much  a 
month.  And  he  does  it  with  one  pack  of  fifty- 
two  small  cards  that  you  could  stick  into  your 
vest  pocket." 

"McAlpin  has  a  wife  and  children  to  support," 
suggested  de  Spain. 

"Don't  think  for  a  moment  he  does  it,"  re 
turned  Lefever  vehemently.  "I  support  his  wife 
and  children,  myself." 

"You  shouldn't  play  cards,  John." 

"It  was  by  playing  cards  that  I  located  Sas- 
soon,  just  the  same.  A  little  game  with  your 

252 


Danger 

friend  Bull  Page,  by  the  way.  And  say,  that  man 
blew  into  Calabasas  one  day  here  lately  with  a 
twenty-dollar  bill;  it's  a  fact.  Now,  where  do 
you  suppose  he  got  twenty  dollars  in  one  bill  ? 
I  know  I  had  it  two  hours  after  he  got  there  and 
then  in  fifteen  minutes  that  blamed  bull-whacker 
you  pay  thirty-two  a  week  to  took  it  away  from 
me.  But  I  got  Sassoon  spotted.  And  where  do 
you  suppose  Split-lips  is  this  minute?" 

"Morgan's  Gap." 

"Quite  so — and  been  there  all  the  time.  Now, 
Bob  has  the  old  warrant  for  him:  the  question 
is,  how  to  get  him  out." 

De  Spain  reflected  a  moment  before  replying: 
"John,  I'd  let  him  alone  just  for  the  present," 
he  said  at  length. 

Lefever's  eyes  bulged:    "Let  Sassoon  alone?" 

"He  will  keep — for  a  while,  anyway." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  don't  want  to  stir  things  up  too  strong  over 
that  way  just  at  the  minute,  John." 

"Why  not?" 

De  Spain  shuffled  a  little:  "Well,  Jeffries 
thinks  we  might  let  things  rest  till  Duke  Mor 
gan  and  the  others  get  over  some  of  their  sore 
ness." 

Lefever,  astonished  at  the  indifference  of  de 
Spain  to  the  opportunity  of  nabbing  Sassoon, 

253 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

while  he  could  be  found,  expostulated  strongly. 
When  de  Spain  persisted,  Lefever,  huffed,  con 
fided  to  Bob  Scott  that  when  the  general  mana 
ger  got  ready  he  could  catch  Sassoon  himself. 

De  Spain  wanted  for  Nan's  sake,  as  well  as  his 
own,  to  see  what  could  be  done  to  pacify  her 
uncle  and  his  relatives  so  that  a  wedge  might  be 
driven  in  between  them  and  their  notorious 
henchman,  and  Sassoon  brought  to  book  with 
their  consent;  on  this  point,  however,  he  was 
not  quite  bold-faced  enough  to  take  his  friends 
into  his  confidence. 

De  Spain,  as  fiery  a  lover  as  he  was  a  fighter, 
stayed  none  of  his  courting  because  circumstances 
put  Music  Mountain  between  him  and  his  mis 
tress.  And  Nan,  after  she  had  once  surrendered, 
was  nothing  behind  in  the  chances  she  unhesi 
tatingly  took  to  arrange  her  meetings  with  de 
Spain.  He  found  in  her,  once  her  girlish  timidity 
was  overcome  and  a  woman's  confidence  had  re 
placed  it,  a  disregard  of  consequences,  so  far  as 
their  own  plans  were  concerned,  that  sometimes 
took  away  his  breath. 

The  very  day  after  she  had  got  her  uncle  home, 
with  the  aid  of  Satterlee  Morgan  and  an  anti 
quated  spring  wagon,  Nan  rode,  later  in  the 
afternoon,  over  to  Calabasas.  The  two  that 
would  not  be  restrained  had  made  their  appoint- 

254 


Danger 

ment  at  the  lower  lava  beds  half-way  between  the 
Gap  and  Calabasas.  The  sun  was  sinking  be 
hind  the  mountain  when  de  Spain  galloped  out 
of  the  rocks  as  Nan  turned  from  the  trail  and 
rode  toward  the  black  and  weather-beaten  meet 
ing-place. 

They  could  hardly  slip  from  their  saddles  fast 
enough  to  reach  each  other's  arms — Nan,  trim 
as  a  model  in  fresh  khaki,  trying  with  a  handker 
chief  hardly  larger  than  a  postage-stamp  to  wipe 
the  flecks  of  dust  from  her  pink  cheeks,  while 
de  Spain,  between  dabs,  covered  them  with  im 
portunate  greetings.  Looking  engrossed  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  both,  in  their  eagerness, 
talking  at  once,  they  led  their  horses  into  hiding 
and  sat  down  to  try  to  tell  all  that  had  happened 
since  their  parting.  Wars  and  rumors  of  wars, 
feuds  and  raidings,  fights  and  pursuits  were  no 
more  to  them  than  to  babes  in  the  woods.  All 
that  mattered  to  them — sitting  or  pacing  to 
gether  and  absorbed,  in  the  path  of  the  long-cold 
volcanic  stream  buried  in  the  shifting  sands  of 
the  desert — was  that  they  should  clasp  each 
other's  clinging  hands,  listen  each  to  the  other's 
answering  voice,  look  unrestrained  into  each 
other's  questioning  eyes. 

They  met  in  both  the  lava  beds — the  upper  lay 
between  the  Gap  and  town — more  than  once. 

255 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

And  one  day  came  a  scare.  They  were  sitting 
on  a  little  ledge  well  up  in  the  rocks  where  de 
Spain  could  overlook  the  trail  east  and  west,  and 
were  talking  about  a  bungalow  some  day  to  be  in 
Sleepy  Cat,  when  they  saw  men  riding  from  the 
west  toward  Calabasas.  There  were  three  in  the 
party,  one  lagging  well  behind.  The  two  men 
leading,  Nan  and  de  Spain  made  out  to  be  Gale 
Morgan  and  Page.  They  saw  the  man  coming 
on  behind  stop  his  horse  and  lean  forward,  his 
head  bent  over  the  trail.  He  was  examining  the 
sand  and  halted  quite  a  minute  to  study  some 
thing.  Both  knew  what  he  was  studying — the 
hoof-prints  of  Nan's  pony  heading  toward  the 
lava.  Nan  shrank  back  and  with  de  Spain  moved 
a  little  to  where  they  could  watch  the  intruder 
without  being  seen.  Nan  whispered  first:  "It's 
Sassoon."  De  Spain  nodded.  "What  shall  we 
do?"  breathed  Nan. 

"Nothing  yet,"  returned  her  lover,  watching 
the  horseman,  whose  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the 
pony's  trail,  but  who  was  now  less  than  a  half 
mile  away  and  riding  straight  toward  them. 

De  Spain,  his  eyes  on  the  danger  and  his  hand 
laid  behind  Nan's  waist,  led  the  way  guardedly 
down  to  where  their  horses  stood.  Nan,  needing 
no  instructions  for  the  emergency,  took  the  lines 
of  the  horses,  and  de  Spain,  standing  beside  his 

256 


Danger 

own  horse,  reached  his  right  hand  over  in  front 
of  the  pommel  and,  regarding  Sassoon  all  the 
while,  drew  his  rifle  slowly  from  its  scabbard. 
The  blood  fled  Nan's  cheeks.  She  said  nothing. 
Without  looking  at  her,  de  Spain  drew  her  own 
rifle  from  her  horse's  side,  passed  it  into  her  hand 
and,  moving  over  in  front  of  the  horses,  laid  his 
left  hand  reassuringly  on  her  waist  again.  At 
that  moment,  little  knowing  what  eyes  were  on 
him  in  the  black  fragments  ahead,  Sassoon  looked 
up.  Then  he  rode  more  slowly  forward.  The  color 
returned  to  Nan's  cheeks:  "Do  you  want  me  to 
use  this  ?"  she  murmured,  indicating  the  rifle. 

"Certainly  not.  But  if  the  others  turn  back, 
I  may  need  it.  Stay  right  here  with  the  horses. 
He  will  lose  the  trail  in  a  minute  now.  When 
he  reaches  the  rock  I'll  go  down  and  keep  him 
from  getting  off  his  horse — he  won't  fight  from 
the  saddle." 

But  with  an  instinct  better  than  knowledge, 
Sassoon,  like  a  wolf  scenting  danger,  stopped 
again.  He  scanned  the  broken  and  forbidding 
hump  in  front,  now  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  him,  questioningly.  His  eyes  seemed  to 
rove  inquisitively  over  the  lava  pile  as  if  asking 
why  a  Morgan  Gap  pony  had  visited  it.  In  an 
other  moment  he  wheeled  his  horse  and  spurred 
rapidly  after  his  companions. 

257 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

The  two  drew  a  deep  breath.  De  Spain 
laughed:  "What  we  don't  know,  never  hurts 
us."  He  drew  Nan  to  him.  Holding  the  rifle 
muzzle  at  arm's  length  as  the  butt  rested  on  the 
ground,  she  looked  up  from  the  shoulder  to  which 
she  was  drawn:  "What  should  you  have  done 
if  he  had  come  ?" 

"Taken  you  to  the  Gap  and  then  taken  him 
to  Sleepy  Cat,  where  he  belongs." 

"But,    Henry,    suppose— 

"There  wouldn't  have  been  any  'suppose." 

"Suppose  the  others  had  come." 

"With  one  rifle,  here,  a  man  could  stand  off  a 
regiment.  Nan,  do  you  know,  you  fit  into  my 
arm  as  if  you  were  made  for  it  ?" 

His  courage  was  contagious.  When  he  had 
tired  her  with  fresh  importunities  he  unpinned 
her  felt  hat  and  held  it  out  of  reach  while  he  kissed 
and  toyed  with  and  disarranged  her  hair.  In  re 
venge,  she  snatched  from  his  pocket  his  little 
black  memorandum-book  and  some  letters  and 
read,  or  pretended  to  read  them,  and  seizing  her 
opportunity  she  broke  from  him  and  ran  with  the 
utmost  fleetness  up  into  the  rocks. 

In  two  minutes  they  had  forgotten  the  episode 
almost  as  completely  as  if  it  never  had  been. 
But  when  they  left  for  home,  they  agreed  they 
would  not  meet  there  again.  They  knew  that 

258 


Danger 

Sassoon,  like  a  jackal,  would  surely  come  back, 
and  more  than  once,  until  he  found  out  just 
what  that  trail  or  any  subsequent  trail  leading 
into  the  beds  meant.  The  lovers  laughed  the 
jackal's  spying  to  scorn  and  rode  away,  banter 
ing,  racing,  and  chasing  each  other  in  the  saddle, 
as  solely  concerned  in  their  happiness  as  if  there 
were  nothing  else  of  moment  in  the  whole  wide 
world. 


259 


CHAPTER  XX 

FACING   THE    MUSIC 

'  I AHEY  had  not  underestimated  the  danger 
from  Sassoon's  suspicious  malevolence.  He 
returned  next  morning  to  read  what  further  he 
could  among  the  rocks.  It  was  little,  but  it 
spelled  a  meeting  of  two  people — Nan  and  an 
other — and  he  was  stimulated  to  keep  his  eyes 
and  ears  open  for  further  discoveries.  Moreover, 
continuing  ease  in  seeing  each  other,  undetected 
by  hostile  eyes,  gradually  rendered  the  lovers  less 
cautious  in  their  arrangements.  The  one  thing 
that  possessed  their  energies  was  to  be  together. 

De  Spain,  naturally  reckless,  had  won  in  Nan 
a  girl  hardly  more  concerned.  Self-reliant,  both 
of  them,  and  instinctively  vigilant,  they  spent  so 
much  time  together  that  Scott  and  Lefever,  who, 
before  a  fortnight  had  passed  after  Duke's  return 
home,  surmised  that  de  Spain  must  be  carrying 
on  some  sort  of  a  clandestine  affair  hinting  toward 
the  Gap,  only  questioned  how  long  it  would  be 
before  something  happened,  and  only  hoped  it 
would  not  be,  in  their  own  word,  unpleasant.  It 
was  not  theirs  in  any  case  to  admonish  de 

260 


Facing  the  Music 

Spain,  nor  to  dog  the  movements  of  so  capable 
a  friend  even  when  his  safety  was  concerned,  so 
long  as  he  preferred  to  keep  his  own  counsel- 
there  are  limits  within  which  no  man  welcomes 
uninvited  assistance.  And  de  Spain,  in  his  long 
and  frequent  rides,  his  protracted  absences,  in 
difference  to  the  details  of  business  and  careless 
humor,  had  evidently  passed  within  these  limits. 

What  was  stage  traffic  to  him  compared  to  the 
sunshine  on  Nan's  hair;  what  attraction  had 
schedules  to  offer  against  a  moment  of  her  eyes; 
what  pleasing  connection  could  there  be  between 
bad-order  wheels  and  her  low  laugh  ? 

The  two  felt  they  must  meet  to  discuss  their 
constant  perplexities  and  the  problems  of  their  dif 
ficult  situation;  but  when  they  reached  their 
trysting-places,  there  was  more  of  gayety  than 
gravity,  more  of  nonchalance  than  concern,  more 
of  looking  into  each  other's  hearts  than  looking 
into  the  troublesome  future.  And  there  was 
hardly  an  inviting  spot  within  miles  of  Music 
Mountain  that  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  had 
not  waited  near. 

There  were,  of  course,  disappointments,  but 
there  were  only  a  few  failures  in  their  arrange 
ments.  The  difficulties  of  these  fell  chiefly  on 
Nan.  How  she  overcame  them  was  a  source  of 
surprise  to  de  Spain,  who  marvelled  at  her  inno- 

261 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

cent  resource  in  escaping  the  demands  at  home 
and  making  her  way,  despite  an  array  of  obstacles, 
to  his  distant  impatience. 

Midway  between  Music  Mountain  and  Sleepy 
Cat  a  low-lying  wall  of  lava  rock,  in  part  sand- 
covered  and  in  part  exposed,  parallels  and  some 
times  crosses  the  principal  trail.  This  undulating 
ridge  was  a  favorite  with  de  Spain  and  Nan,  be 
cause  they  could  ride  in  and  out  of  hiding-places 
without  more  than  just  leaving  the  trail  itself. 
To  the  west  of  this  ridge,  and  commanding  it, 
rose  rather  more  than  a  mile  away  the  cone  called 
Black  Cap. 

"Suppose,"  said  Nan  one  afternoon,  looking 
from  de  Spain's  side  toward  the  mountains, 
"some  one  should  be  spying  on  us  from  Black 
Cap  ?"  She  pointed  to  the  solitary  rock. 

"If  any  one  has  been,  Nan,  with  a  good  glass 
he  must  have  seen  exchanges  of  confidence  over 
here  that  would  make  him  gnash  his  teeth.  I 
know  if  I  ever  saw  anything  like  it  I'd  go  hang. 
But  the  country  around  there  is  too  rough  for  a 
horse.  Nobody  even  hides  around  Black  Cap, 
except  some  tramp  hold-up  man  that's  crowded 
in  his  get-away.  Bob  Scott  says  there  are  dozens 
of  mountain-lions  over  there." 

But  Sassoon  had  the  unpleasant  patience  of  a 
mountain-lion  and  its  dogged  persistence,  and, 

262 


Facing  the  Music 

hiding  himself  on  Black  Cap,  he  made  certain  one 
day  of  what  he  had  long  been  convinced — that 
Nan  was  meeting  de  Spain. 

The  day  after  she  had  mentioned  Black  Cap 
to  her  lover,  Nan  rode  over  to  Calabasas  to  get  a 
bridle  mended.  Galloping  back,  she  encountered 
Sassoon  just  inside  the  Gap.  Nan  so  detested 
him  that  she  never  spoke  when  she  could  avoid  it. 
On  his  part  he  pretended  not  to  see  her  as  she 
passed.  When  she  reached  home  she  found  her 
Uncle  Duke  and  Gale  standing  in  front  of  the  fire 
place  in  the  living-room.  The  two  appeared  from 
their  manner  to  have  been  in  a  heated  discussion, 
one  that  had  stopped  suddenly  on  her  appearance. 
Both  looked  at  Nan.  The  expression  on  their 
faces  forewarned  her.  She  threw  her  quirt  on 
the  table,  drew  off*  her  riding-gloves,  and  began 
to  unpin  her  hat;  but  she  knew  a  storm  was  im 
pending. 

Gale  had  been  made  for  a  long  time  to  know 
that  he  was  an  unwelcome  visitor,  and  Nan's 
greeting  of  him  was  the  merest  contemptuous 
nod.  "Well,  uncle,"  she  said,  glancing  at  Duke, 
"I'm  late  again.  Have  you  had  supper?" 

Duke  always  spoke  curtly;  to-night  his  heavy 
voice  was  as  sharp  as  an  axe.  "Been  late  a  good 
deal  lately." 

Nan  laid  her  hat  on  the  table  and,  glancing 
263 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

composedly  from  one  suspicious  face  to  the  other, 
put  her  hands  up  to  rearrange  her  hair.  "I'm 
going  to  try  to  do  better.  I'll  go  out  and  get  my 
supper  if  you've  had  yours."  She  started  toward 
the  dining-room. 

"Hold  on!"  Nan  paused  at  her  uncle's  fero 
cious  command.  She  looked  at  him  either  really 
or  feignedly  surprised,  her  expression  changing  to 
one  of  indignation,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 
Since  he  did  no  more  than  glare  angrily  at  her, 
Nan  lifted  her  brows  a  little.  "What  do  you 
want,  uncle  ?" 

"Where  did  you  go  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Over  to  Calabasas,"  she  answered  innocently. 

"Who'd  you  meet  there?"  Duke's  tone 
snapped  with  anger.  He  was  working  himself 
into  a  fury,  but  Nan  saw  it  must  be  faced.  "The 
same  people  I  usually  meet — why?" 

"Did  you  meet  Henry  de  Spain  there  this 
afternoon  ? " 

Nan  looked  squarely  at  her  cousin  and  returned 
his  triumphant  expression  defiantly  before  she 
turned  her  eyes  on  her  uncle.  "No,"  she  said 
collectedly.  "Why?" 

"Do  you  deny  it  ?"  he  thundered. 

"Yes,  I  deny  it.     Why?" 

"Did  you  see  de  Spain  at  Calabasas  this  after 
noon  ?" 

264 


Facing  the  Music 

"No." 

"See  him  anywhere  else?" 

"No,  I  did  not.  What  do  you  mean  ?  What," 
demanded  his  niece  with  spirit,  "do  you  want  to 
know  ?  What  are  you  trying  to  find  out  ?" 

Duke  turned  in  his  rage  on  Gale.  "There! 
You  hear  that — what  have  you  got  to  say  now?" 
he  demanded  with  an  abusive  oath. 

Gale,  who  had  been  hardly  able  to  refrain  from 
breaking  in,  answered  fast.  "What  have  I  got 
to  say?"  he  roared.  "I  say  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  I  say  she's  lying,  Duke." 

Nan's  face  turned  white  with  anger.  Before 
she  could  speak  her  uncle  took  up  the  words. 
"  Hold  on,"  he  shouted.  "  Don't  tell  me  she  lies." 
He  launched  another  hot  expletive.  "I  know  she 
doesn't  lie  !" 

Gale  jumped  forward,  his  finger  pointed  at 
Nan.  "Look  here,  do  you  deny  you  are  meeting 
Henry  de  Spain  all  over  the  desert  ?" 

Nan's  anger  supported  her  without  a  tremor. 
"Who  are  you  to  ask  me  whom  I  meet  or  don't 
meet?" 

"You've  been  meeting  de  Spain  right  along, 
haven't  you  ?  You  met  him  down  the  Sleepy 
Cat  trail  near  Black  Cap,  didn't  you  ?" 

Nan  stood  with  her  back  against  the  end  of  the 
table  where  her  uncle's  first  words  had  stopped 

265 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

her,  and  she  looked  sidewise  toward  her  cousin. 
In  her  answer  he  heard  as  much  contempt  as  a 
girl's  voice  could  carry  to  a  rejected  lover.  "So 
you've  turned  sneak!" 

Gale  roared  a  string  of  bad  words. 

"You  hire  that  coyote,  Sassoon,  to  spy  for  you, 
do  you  ?"  demanded  Nan  coolly.  "Aren't  you 
proud  of  your  manly  relation,  uncle?"  Duke 
was  choking  with  rage.  He  tried  to  speak  to  her, 
but  he  could  not  form  his  words.  "What  is  it 
you  want  to  know,  uncle  ?  Whether  it  is  true  that 
I  meet  Henry  de  Spain  ?  It  is.  I  do  meet  him, 
and  we're  engaged  to  be  married  when  you  give 
us  permission,  Uncle  Duke — and  not  till  then." 

"There  you  have  it,"  cried  Gale.  "There's  the 
story.  I  told  you  so.  I've  known  it  for  a  week, 
I  tell  you."  Nan's  face  set.  "Not  only,"  con 
tinued  her  cousin  jeeringly,  "meeting  that 

Almost  before  the  vile  epithet  that  followed  had 
reached  her  ears,  Nan  caught  up  the  whip.  Be 
fore  he  could  escape  she  cut  Gale  sharply  across 
the  face.  "You  coward,"  she  cried,  trembling  so 
she  could  not  control  her  voice.  "If  you  ever 
dare  use  that  word  before  me  again,  I'll  horse 
whip  you.  Go  to  Henry  de  Spain's  face,  you 
skulker,  and  say  that  if  you  dare." 

"Put  down  that  quirt,  Nan,"  yelled  her  uncle. 

"I  won't  put  it  down,"  she  exclaimed  defiantly. 
266 


Facing  the  Music 

"And  he  will  get  a  good  lashing  with  it  if  he  says 
one  more  word  about  Henry  de  Spain." 

"Put  down  that  quirt,  I  tell  you,"  thundered 
her  uncle. 

She  whirled.  "I  won't  put  it  down.  This 
hulking  bully !  I  know  him  better  than  you  do." 
She  pointed  a  quivering  finger  at  her  cousin.  "He 
insulted  me  as  vilely  as  he  could  only  a  few  months 
ago  on  Music  Mountain.  And  if  this  very  same 
Henry  de  Spain  hadn't  happened  to  be  there  to 
protect  me,  you  would  have  found  me  dead  next 
morning  by  my  own  hand.  Do  you  understand  ?" 
she  cried,  panting  and  furious.  "That's  what  he 
is!" 

Her  uncle  tried  to  break  in.  "Stop!"  she  ex 
claimed,  pointing  at  Gale.  "He  never  told  you 
that,  did  he?" 

"No;  nor  you  neither,"  snapped  Duke  hoarsely. 

"I  didn't  tell  you,"  retorted  Nan,  "because 
I've  been  trying  to  live  with  you  here  in  peace 
among  these  thieves  and  cutthroats,  and  not 
keep  you  stirred  up  all  the  time.  And  Henry  de 
Spain  faced  this  big  coward  and  protected  me 
from  him  with  an  empty  revolver !  What  busi 
ness  of  yours  is  it  whom  I  meet,  or  where  I  go  ?" 
she  demanded,  raining  her  words  with  flaming 
eyes  on  her  belligerent  cousin.  "I  will  never 
marry  you  to  save  you  from  the  hangman.  Now 

267 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

leave  this  house."    She  stamped  her  foot.    "Leave 
this  house,  and  never  come  into  it  again  !" 

Gale,  beside  himself  with  rage,  stood  his  ground. 
He  poured  all  that  he  safely  could  of  abuse  on 
Nan's  own  head.  She  had  appeased  her  wrath 
and  made  no  attempt  to  retort,  only  looking  at 
him  with  white  face  and  burning  eyes  as  she 
breathed  defiance.  Duke  interfered.  "Get  out !" 
he  said  to  Gale  harshly.  "I'll  talk  to  her.  Go 
home!" 

Not  ceasing  to  mutter  threats,  Gale  picked  up 
his  hat  and  stamped  out  of  the  house,  slamming 
the  doors.  Duke,  exhausted  by  the  quarrel,  sat 
down,  eying  his  niece.  "Now  what  does  this 
mean?"  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

She  tried  to  tell  him  honestly  and  frankly  all 
that  her  acquaintance  with  de  Spain  did  mean- 
dwelling  no  more  than  was  necessary  on  its  be 
ginning,  but  concealing  nothing  of  its  develop 
ment  and  consequences,  nothing  of  her  love  for 
de  Spain,  nor  of  his  for  her.  But  no  part  of 
what  she  could  say  on  any  point  she  urged  soft 
ened  her  uncle's  face.  His  square  hard  jaw  from 
beginning  to  end  looked  like  stone. 

"So  he's  your  lover?"  he  said  harshly  when 
she  had  done. 

"  He  wants  to  be  your  friend,"  returned  Nan, 
determined  not  to  give  up. 

268 


Facing  the  Music 

Duke  looked  at  her  uncompromisingly:  "That 
man  can't  ever  be  any  friend  of  mine — understand 
that !  He  can't  ever  marry  you.  If  he  ever 
tries  to,  so  help  me  God,  I'll  kill  him  if  I  hang  for 
it.  I  know  his  game.  I  know  what  he  wants. 
He  doesn't  care  a  pinch  of  snuff  about  you.  He 
thinks  he  can  hit  me  a  blow  by  getting  you  away 
from  me." 

"Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  truth," 
exclaimed  Nan  hopelessly. 

Duke  struck  the  table  a  smashing  blow  with 
his  fist.  "I'll  show  Mr.  de  Spain  and  his  friends 
where  they  get  off." 

"Uncle  Duke,  if  you  won't  listen  to  reason,  you 
must  listen  to  sense.  Think  of  what  a  position 
you  put  me  in.  I  love  you  for  all  your  care  of 
me.  I  love  him  for  his  affection  for  me  and  con 
sideration  of  me — because  he  knows  how  to  treat 
a  woman.  I  know  he  wouldn't  harm  a  hair  on 
your  head,  for  my  sake,  yet  you  talk  now  of 
bloodshed  between  you  two.  I  know  what  your 
words  mean — that  one  of  you,  or  both  of  you  are 
to  be  killed  for  a  senseless  feud.  He  will  not 
stand  up  and  let  any  man  shoot  him  down  with 
out  resistance.  If  you  lay  your  blood  on  his  head, 
you  know  it  would  put  a  stain  between  him  and 
me  that  never  could  be  washed  out  as  long  as 
we  lived.  If  you  kill  him  I  could  never  stay  here 

269 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

with  you.     His  blood  would  cry  out  every  day 
and  night  against  you." 

Duke's  violent  finger  shot  out  at  her.  "And 
you're  the  gal  I  took  from  your  mammy  and 
promised  I'd  bring  up  a  decent  woman.  You've 
got  none  o'  her  blood  in  you — not  a  drop.  You're 
the  brat  of  that  damned,  mincing  brother  of  mine, 
that  was  always  riding  horseback  and  showing  off 
in  town  while  I  was  weeding  the  tobacco-beds." 

Nan  clasped  her  hands.  "Don't  blame  me 
because  I'm  your  brother's  child.  Blame  me  be 
cause  I'm  a  woman,  because  I  have  a  heart,  be 
cause  I  want  to  live  and  see  you  live,  and  to  see 
you  live  in  peace  instead  of  what  we  do  live  in — 
suspicion,  distrust,  feuds,  alarms,  and  worse. 
I'm  not  ungrateful,  as  you  plainly  say  I  am.  I 
want  you  to  get  out  of  what  you  are  in  here — I 
want  to  be  out  of  it.  I'd  rather  be  dead  now 
than  to  live  and  die  in  it.  And  what  is  this  anger 
all  for  ?  Nothing.  He  offers  you  his  friendship — ' 
She  could  speak  no  further.  Her  uncle  with  a 
curse  left  her  alone.  When  she  arose  in  the  early 
morning  he  had  already  gone  away. 


270 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   TRY    OUT 

OLEEPY  CAT  is  not  so  large  a  place  that  one 
would  ordinarily  have  much  trouble  in  finding 
a  man  in  it  if  one  searched  well.  But  Duke  Mor 
gan  drove  into  town  next  morning  and  had  to 
stay  for  three  days  waiting  for  a  chance  to  meet 
de  Spain.  Duke  was  not  a  man  to  talk  much 
when  he  had  anything  of  moment  to  put  through, 
and  he  had  left  home  determined,  before  he  came 
back,  to  finish  for  good  with  his  enemy. 

De  Spain  himself  had  been  putting  off  for  weeks 
every  business  that  would  bear  putting  off,  and 
had  been  forced  at  length  to  run  down  to  Medicine 
Bend  to  buy  horses.  Nan,  after  her  uncle  left 
home — justly  apprehensive  of  his  intentions — 
made  frantic  efforts  to  get  word  to  de  Spain  of 
what  was  impending.  She  could  not  telegraph— 
a  publicity  that  she  dreaded  would  have  followed 
at  once.  De  Spain  had  expected  to  be  back  in 
two  days.  Such  a  letter  as  she  could  have  sent 
would  not  reach  him  at  Medicine  Bend. 

As   it  was,   a   distressing   amount  of  talk   did 
attend  Duke's  efforts  to  get  track  of  de  Spain. 

271 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Sleepy  Cat  had  but  one  interpretation  for  his  in 
quiries — and  a  fight,  if  one  occurred  between  these 
men,  it  was  conceded  would  be  historic  in  the 
annals  of  the  town.  Its  anticipation  was  food  for 
all  of  the  rumors  of  three  days  of  suspense.  For 
the  town  they  were  three  days  of  thrilling  expecta 
tion;  for  Nan,  isolated,  without  a  confidant,  not 
knowing  what  to  do  or  which  way  to  turn,  they 
were  the  three  bitterest  days  of  anxiety  she  had 
ever  known. 

Desperate  with  suspense  at  the  close  of  the 
second  day — wild  for  a  scrap  of  news,  yet  dread 
ing  one — she  saddled  her  pony  and  rode  alone  into 
Sleepy  Cat  after  nightfall  to  meet  the  train  on 
which  de  Spain  had  told  her  he  would  return  from 
the  east.  She  rode  straight  to  the  hospital,  in 
stead  of  going  to  the  livery-barn,  and  leaving  her 
horse,  got  supper  and  walked  by  way  of  unfre 
quented  streets  down-town  to  the  station  to  wait 
for  the  train. 

Never  had  she  felt  so  miserable,  so  helpless,  so 
forsaken,  so  alone.  With  the  thought  of  her  near 
est  relative,  the  man  who  had  been  a  father  to 
her  and  provided  a  home  for  her  as  long  as  she 
could  remember,  seeking  to  kill  him  whose  devo 
tion  had  given  her  all  the  happiness  she  had  ever 
known,  and  whose  safety  meant  her  only  pledge 
of  happiness  for  the  future — her  heart  sank. 

272 


A  Try  Out 

When  the  big  train  drew  slowly,  almost  noise 
lessly,  in,  Nan  took  her  place  where  no  incoming 
passenger  could  escape  her  gaze  and  waited  for 
de  Spain.  Scanning  eagerly  the  figures  of  the 
men  that  walked  up  the  long  platform  and  ap 
proached  the  station  exit,  the  fear  that  she  should 
not  see  him  battled  with  the  hope  that  he  would 
still  appear.  But  when  all  the  arrivals  had  been 
accounted  for,  he  had  not  come. 

She  turned,  heavy-hearted,  to  walk  back  up 
town,  trying  to  think  of  whom  she  might  seek 
some  information  concerning  de  Spain's  where 
abouts,  when  her  eye  fell  on  a  man  standing  not 
ten  feet  away  at  the  door  of  the  baggage-room. 
He  was  alone  and  seemed  to  be  watching  the 
changing  of  the  engines,  but  Nan  thought  she 
knew  him  by  sight.  The  rather  long,  straight, 
black  hair  under  the  broad-brimmed  Stetson  hat 
marked  the  man  known  and  hated  in  the  Gap  as 
"the  Indian."  Here,  she  said  to  herself,  was  a 
chance.  De  Spain,  she  recalled,  spoke  of  no  one 
oftener  than  this  man.  He  seemed  wholly  dis 
engaged. 

Repressing  her  nervous  timidity,  Nan  walked 
over  to  him.  "Aren't  you  Mr.  Scott  ?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

Scott,  turning  to  her,  touched  his  hat  as  if 
quite  unaware  until  that  moment  of  her  existence. 

273 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Did  Mr.  de  Spain  get  off  this  train  ?"  she  asked, 
as  Scott  acknowledged  his  identity. 

"I  didn't  see  him.  I  guess  he  didn't  come  to 
night."  Nan  noticed  the  impassive  manner  of 
his  speaking  and  the  low,  even  tones.  "I  was 
kind  of  looking  for  him  myself." 

"Is  there  another  train  to-night  he  could  come 
on?" 

"I  don't  think  he  will  be  back  now  before  to 
morrow  night." 

Nan,  much  disappointed,  looked  up  the  line 
and  down.  "I  rode  in  this  afternoon  from  Music 
Mountain  especially  to  see  him."  Scott,  without 
commenting,  smiled  with  understanding  and  en 
couragement,  and  Nan  was  so  filled  with  anxiety 
that  she  welcomed  a  chance  to  talk  to  somebody. 
"I've  often  heard  him  speak  of  you,"  she  ven 
tured,  searching  the  dark  eyes,  and  watching 
the  open,  kindly  smile  characteristic  of  the 
man.  Scott  put  his  right  hand  out  at  his  side. 
"I've  ridden  with  that  boy  since  he  was  so 
high." 

"I  know  he  thinks  everything  of  you." 

"I  think  a  lot  of  him." 

"You  don't  know  me?"  she  said  tentatively. 

His  answer  concealed  all  that  was  necessary. 
"Not  to  speak  to,  no." 

"I  am  Nan  Morgan." 

274 


A  Try  Out 

"I  know  your  name  pretty  well/*  he  explained; 
nothing  seemed  to  disturb  his  smile. 

"And  I  came  in — because  I  was  worried  over 
something  and  wanted  to  see  Mr.  de  Spain/* 

"He  is  buying  horses  north  of  Medicine  Bend. 
The  rain-storm  yesterday  likely  kept  him  back 
some.  I  don't  think  you  need  worry  much  over 
anything  though/' 

"I  don't  mean  I  am  worrying  about  Mr.  de 
Spain  at  Medicine  Bend,"  disclaimed  Nan  with 
a  trace  of  embarrassment. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  smiled  Bob  Scott. 
She  regarded  him  questioningly.  He  returned 
her  gaze  reassuringly  as  if  he  was  confident  of  his 
ground.  "Did  your  pony  come  along  all  right 
after  you  left  the  foot-hills  this  afternoon  ?" 

Nan  opened  her  eyes.  "How  did  you  know  I 
came  through  the  foot-hills?" 

"I  was  over  that  way  to-day."  Something  in 
the  continuous  smile  enlightened  her  more  than 
the  word.  "I  noticed  your  pony  went  lame. 
You  stopped  to  look  at  his  foot." 

"You  were  behind  me,"  exclaimed  Nan. 

"I  didn't  see  you,"  he  countered  prudently. 

She  seemed  to  fathom  something  from  the  ex 
pression  of  his  face.  uYou  couldn't  have  known 
I  was  coming  in,"  she  said  quickly. 

"No."  He  paused.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  in- 
275 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

vite  a  further  confidence.  "But  after  you  started 
it  would  be  a  pity  if  any  harm  came  to  you  on 
the  road." 

"You  knew  Uncle  Duke  was  in  town  ?"  Scott 
nodded.  "Do  you  know  why  I  came?" 

"I  made  a  guess  at  it.  I  don't  think  you  need 
worry  over  anything." 

"Has  Uncle  Duke  been  talking?" 

"Your  Uncle  Duke  doesn't  talk  much,  you 
know.  But  he  had  to  ask  questions." 

"Did  you  follow  me  down  from  the  hospital 
to-night  ?" 

"I  was  coming  from  my  house  after  supper.  I 
only  kept  close  enough  to  you  to  be  handy." 

"Oh,  I  understand.  And  you  are  very  kind.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  now." 

"Go  back  to  the  hospital  for  the  night.  I  will 
send  Henry  de  Spain  up  there  just  as  soon  as  he 


comes  to  town." 


"Suppose  Uncle  Duke  sees  him  first." 
"I'll  see  that  he  doesn't  see  him  first." 
"Where  is  Uncle  Duke  to-night,  do  you  know  ?'* 
"Lefever  says  he  is  up-street  somewhere." 
"That    means    Tenison's,"    said    Nan.     "You 

need  not  be  afraid  to  speak  plainly,  as  I  must. 

Uncle  Duke  is  very  angry — I  am  deathly  afraid 

of  their  meeting." 

Even  de  Spain  himself,  when  he  came  back  the 
276 


A  Try  Out 

next  night,  seemed  hardly  able  to  reassure  her. 
Nan,  who  had  stayed  at  the  hospital,  awaited 
him  there,  whither  Scott  had  directed  him,  with 
her  burden  of  anxiety  still  upon  her.  When  she 
had  told  all  her  story,  de  Spain  laughed  at  her 
fears.  "I'll  bring  that  man  around,  Nan,  don't 
worry.  Don't  believe  we  shall  ever  fight.  I  may 
not  be  able  to  bring  him  around  to-morrow,  or 
next  week,  but  I'll  do  it.  It  takes  two  to  quarrel, 
you  know." 

"But  you  don't  know  how  unreasoning  Uncle 
Duke  is  when  he  is  angry,"  said  Nan  mournfully. 
"He  won't  listen  to  anybody.  He  always  would 
listen  to  me  until  now.  Now,  he  says,  I  have  gone 
back  on  him,  and  he  doesn't  care  what  happens. 
Think,  Henry,  where  it  would  put  me  if  either  of 
you  should  kill  the  other.  Henry,  I've  been 
thinking  it  all  over  for  three  days  now.  I  see 
what  must  come.  It  will  break  both  our  hearts, 
I  know,  but  they  will  be  broken  anyway.  There 
is  no  way  out,  Henry — none." 

"Nan,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"You  must  give  me  up." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  hospital  garden,  he 
at  her  side  on  the  bench  that  he  called  their 
bench.  It  was  here  he  had  made  his  unrebuked 
avowal — here,  he  had  afterward  told  her,  that  he 
began  to  live.  "Give  you  up,"  he  echoed  with 

277 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

gentleness.  "How  could  I  do  that  ?  You're  like 
the  morning  for  me,  Nan.  Without  you  there's 
no  day;  you're  the  kiss  of  the  mountain  wind  and 
the  light  of  the  stars  to  me.  Without  the  thought 
of  you  I'd  sicken  and  faint  in  the  saddle,  I'd  lose 
my  way  in  the  hills;  without  you  there  would  be 
no  to-morrow.  No  matter  where  I  am,  no  matter 
how  I  feel,  if  I  think  of  you  strength  wells  into 
my  heart  like  a  spring.  I  never  could  give  you 
up." 

He  told  her  all  would  be  well  because  it  must  be 
well;  that  she  must  trust  him;  that  he  would  bring 
her  safe  through  every  danger  and  every  storm,  if 
she  would  only  stick  to  him.  And  Nan,  sobbing 
her  fears  one  by  one  out  on  his  breast,  put  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  whispered  that  for  life 
or  death,  she  would  stick. 

It  .was  not  hard  for  de  Spain  next  morning  to 
find  Duke  Morgan.  He  was  anxious  on  Nan's 
account  to  meet  him  early.  The  difficulty  was 
to  meet  him  without  the  mob  of  hangers-on  whose 
appetite  had  been  whetted  with  the  prospect  of 
a  death,  and  perhaps  more  than  one,  in  the  meet 
ing  of  men  whose  supremacy  with  the  gun  had 
never  been  successfully  disputed.  It  required  all 
the  diplomacy  of  Lefever  to  "pull  off"  a  confer 
ence  between  the  two  which  should  not  from  the 
start  be  hopeless,  because  of  a  crowd  of  Duke's 

278 


A  Try  Out 

partisans  whose  presence  would  egg  him  on,  in 
spite  of  everything,  to  a  combat.  But  toward 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  de  Spain  having 
been  concealed  like  a  circus  performer  every  min 
ute  earlier,  Duke  Morgan  was  found,  alone,  in  a 
barber's  hands  in  the  Mountain  House.  At  the 
moment  Duke  left  the  revolving-chair  and  walked 
to  the  cigar  stand  to  pay  his  check,  de  Spain  en 
tered  the  shop  through  the  rear  door  opening  from 
the  hotel  office. 

Passing  with  an  easy  step  the  row  of  barbers 
lined  up  in  waiting  beside  their  chairs,  de  Spain 
walked  straight  down  the  open  aisle,  behind 
Morgan's  back.  While  Duke  bent  over  the  case 
to  select  a  cigar,  de  Spain,  passing,  placed  himself 
at  the  mountain-man's  side  and  between  him  and 
the  street  sunshine.  It  was  taking  an  advantage, 
de  Spain  was  well  aware,  but  under  the  circum 
stances  he  thought  himself  entitled  to  a  good 
light  on  Duke's  eye. 

De  Spain  wore  an  ordinary  sack  street  suit, 
with  no  sign  of  a  weapon  about  him;  but  none  of 
those  who  considered  themselves  favored  spec 
tators  of  a  long-awaited  encounter  felt  any  doubt 
as  to  his  ability  to  put  his  hand  on  one  at  incom 
parably  short  notice.  There  was,  however,  no 
trace  of  hostility  or  suspicion  in  de  Spain's  greet 
ing. 

279 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Hello,  Duke  Morgan,"  he  said  frankly.  Mor 
gan  looked  around.  His  face  hardened  when  he 
saw  de  Spain,  and  he  involuntarily  took  a  short 
step  backward.  De  Spain,  with  his  left  hand 
lying  carelessly  on  the  cigar  case,  faced  him.  "I 
heard  you  wanted  to  see  me,"  continued  de  Spain. 
"I  want  to  see  you.  How's  your  back  since  you 
went  home  ?" 

Morgan  eyed  him  with  a  mixture  of  suspicion 
and  animosity.  He  took  what  was  to  him  the 
most  significant  part  of  de  Spain's  greeting  first 
and  threw  his  response  into  words  as  short  as 
words  could  be  chopped:  "What  do  you  want  to 
see  me  about  ?" 

"Nothing  unpleasant,  I  hope,"  returned  de 
Spain.  "Let's  sit  down  a  minute." 

"Say  what  you  got  to  say." 

"Well,  don't  take  my  head  off,  Duke.  I  was 
sorry  to  hear  you  were  hurt.  And  I've  been  try 
ing  to  figure  out  how  to  make  it  easier  for  you  to 
get  to  and  from  town  while  you  are  getting 
strong.  Jeffries  and  I  both  feel  there's  been  a 
lot  of  unnecessary  hard  feeling  between  the  Mor 
gans  and  the  company,  and  we  want  to  ask  you 
to  accept  this  to  show  some  of  it's  ended."  De 
Spain  put  his  left  hand  into  his  side  pocket  and 
held  out  an  unsealed  envelope  to  Morgan.  Duke, 
taking  the  envelope,  eyed  it  distrustfully. 

280 


A  Try  Out 

"What's  this?"  he  demanded,  opening  it  and 
drawing  out  a  card. 

"Something  for  easier  riding.  An  annual  pass 
for  you  and  one  over  the  stage  line  between  Cala- 
basas  and  Sleepy  Cat — with  Mr.  Jeffries's  com 
pliments." 

Like  a  flash,  Morgan  tore  the  card  pass  in  two 
and  threw  it  angrily  to  the  floor.  "Tell  'Mr/ 
Jeffries,"  he  exclaimed  violently,  "to — 

The  man  that  chanced  at  that  moment  to  be 
lying  in  the  nearest  chair  slid  quietly  but  imperi 
ously  out  from  under  the  razor  and  started  with 
the  barbers  for  the  rear  door,  wiping  the  lather 
from  one  unshaven  side  of  his  face  with  a  neck 
towel  as  he  took  his  hasty  way.  At  the  back  of 
the  shop  a  fat  man,  sitting  in  a  chair  on  the 
high,  shoe-shining  platform,  while  a  negro  boy 
polished  him,  rose  at  Morgan's  imprecation  and 
tried  to  step  over  the  bootblack's  head  to  the 
floor  below.  The  boy,  trying  to  get  out  of  the 
way,  jumped  back,  and  the  fat  man  fell,  or  pre 
tended  to  fall,  over  him — for  it  might  be  seen 
that  the  man,  despite  his  size,  had  lighted  like  a 
cat  on  his  feet  and  was  instantly  half-way  up 
to  the  front  of  the  shop,  exclaiming  profanely 
but  collectedly  at  the  lad's  awkwardness,  before 
de  Spain  had  had  time  to  reply  to  the  insult. 

The  noise  and  confusion  of  the  incident  were 
281 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

considerable.  Morgan  was  too  old  a  fighter  to 
look  behind  him  at  a  critical  moment.  No  man 
could  say  he  had  meant  to  draw  when  he  stamped 
the  card  underfoot,  but  de  Spain  read  it  in  his 
eye  and  knew  that  Lefever's  sudden  diversion 
at  the  rear  had  made  him  hesitate;  the  crisis 
passed  like  a  flash.  "Sorry  you  feel  that  way, 
Duke,"  returned  de  Spain,  undisturbed.  "It  is 
a  courtesy  we  were  glad  to  extend.  And  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  about  Nan,  too." 

Morgan's  face  was  livid.     "What  about  her?" 
"She  has  given  me  permission  to  ask  your  con 
sent  to  our  marriage,"  said  de  Spain,  "sometime 
in  the  reasonable  future." 

It  was  difficult  for  Duke  to  speak  at  all,  he  was 
so  infuriated.  "You  can  get  my  consent  in  just 
one  way,"  he  managed  to  say,  "that's  by  getting 


me." 


"Then  I'm  afraid  I'll  never  get  it,  for  I'll  never 
'get'  you,  Duke." 

A  torrent  of  oaths  fell  from  Morgan's  cracked 
lips.  He  tried  to  tell  de  Spain  in  his  fury  that  he 
knew  all  about  his  underhanded  work,  he  called 
him  more  than  one  hard  name,  made  no  secret 
of  his  deadly  enmity,  and  challenged  him  to  end 
their  differences  then  and  there. 

De  Spain  did  not  move.  His  left  hand  again 
lay  on  the  cigar  case.  "Duke,"  he  said,  when  his 

282 


A  Try  Out 

antagonist  had  exhausted  his  vituperation,  "I 
wouldn't  fight  you,  anyway.  You're  crazy  angry 
at  me  for  no  reason  on  earth.  If  you'll  give 
me  just  one  good  reason  for  feeling  the  way  you 
do  toward  me,  and  the  way  you've  always  acted 
toward  me  since  I  came  up  to  this  country,  I'll 
fight  you." 

"Pull  your  gun,"  cried  Morgan  with  an  im 
precation. 

"I  won't  do  it.  You  call  me  a  coward.  Ask 
these  boys  here  in  the  shop  whether  they  agree 
with  you  on  that.  You  might  as  well  call  me  an 
isosceles  triangle.  You're  just  crazy  sore  at  me 
when  I  want  to  be  friends  with  you.  Instead  of 
pulling  my  gun,  Duke,  I'll  lay  it  out  on  the  case, 
here,  to  show  you  that  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to  talk 
reason."  De  Spain,  reaching  with  his  left  hand 
under  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  took  a  Colt's  revolver 
from  its  breast  harness  and  laid  it,  the  muzzle 
toward  himself,  on  the  plate-glass  top  of  the 
cigar  stand.  It  reduced  him  to  the  necessity  of 
a  spring  into  Morgan  for  the  smallest  chance  for 
his  life  if  Morgan  should  draw;  but  de  Spain  was 
a  desperate  gambler  in  such  matters  even  at 
twenty-eight,  and  he  laid  his  wagers  on  what  he 
could  read  in  another's  eye. 

"There's  more  reasons  than  one  why  I  shouldn't 
fight  you,"  he  said  evenly.  "Duke,  you're  old 

283 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

enough  to  be  my  father — do  you  realize  that  ? 
What's  the  good  of  our  shooting  each  other  up  ?" 
he  asked,  ignoring  Morgan's  furious  interrup 
tions.  "Who's  to  look  after  Nan  when  you  go- 
as  you  must,  before  very  many  years  ?  Have 
you  ever  asked  yourself  that  ?  Do  you  want  to 
leave  her  to  that  pack  of  wolves  in  the  Gap  ? 
You  know,  just  as  well  as  I  do,  the  Gap  is  no 
place  for  a  high-bred,  fine-grained  girl  like  Nan 
Morgan.  But  the  Gap  is  your  home,  and  you've 
done  right  to  keep  her  under  your  roof  and  under 
your  eye.  Do  you  think  I'd  like  to  pull  a  trigger 
on  a  man  that's  been  a  father  to  Nan  ?  Damna 
tion,  Duke,  could  you  expect  me  to  do  it,  willingly  ? 
Nan  is  a  queen.  The  best  in  the  world  isn't  good 
enough  for  her — I'm  not  good  enough,  I  know 
that.  She's  dear  to  you,  she  is  dear  to  me.  If 
you  really  want  to  see  me  try  to  use  a  gun,  send 
me  a  man  that  will  insult  or  abuse  her.  If  you 
want  to  use  your  own  gun,  use  it  on  me  if  I  ever 
insult  or  abuse  her — is  that  fair?" 

"Damn  your  fine  words,"  exclaimed  Morgan 
slowly  and  implacably.  "They  don't  pull  any 
wool  over  my  eyes.  I  know  you,  de  Spain — I 
know  your  breed " 

"What's  that?" 

Morgan  checked  himself  at  that  tone.  "You 
can't  sneak  into  my  affairs  any  deeper,"  he  cried. 

284 


A  Try  Out 

"  Keep  away  from  my  blood !  I  know  how  to 
take  care  of  my  own.  I'll  do  it.  So  help  me 
God,  if  you  ever  take  any  one  of  my  kin  away 
from  me — it'll  be  over  my  dead  body  ! "  He  ended 
with  a  bitter  oath  and  a  final  taunt:  "Is  that 
fair?" 

"No,"  retorted  de  Spain  good-naturedly,  "it's 
not  fair.  And  some  day,  Duke,  you'll  be  the 
first  to  say  so.  You  won't  shake  hands  with  me 
now,  I  know,  so  I'll  go.  But  the  day  will  come 
when  you  will." 

He  covered  his  revolver  with  his  left  hand,  and 
replaced  it  under  his  coat.  The  fat  man  who  had 
been  leaning  patiently  against  a  barber's  chair 
ten  feet  from  the  disputants,  stepped  forward 
again  lightly  as  a  cat.  "Henry,"  he  exclaimed,  in 
a  low  but  urgent  tone,  his  hand  extended,  "just 
a  minute.  There's  a  long-distance  telephone  call 
on  the  wire  for  you."  He  pointed  to  the  office 
door.  "Take  the  first  booth,  Henry.  Hello, 
Duke,"  he  added,  greeting  Morgan  with  an  ex 
tended  hand,  as  de  Spain  walked  back.  "How 
are  you  making  it,  old  man  ?" 

Duke  Morgan  grunted. 

"Sorry  to  interrupt  your  talk,"  continued  Le- 
fever.  "But  the  barns  at  Calabasas  are  burning 
— telephone  wires  from  there  cut,  too — they  had 
to  pick  up  the  Thief  River  trunk  line  to  get  a 

285 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

message  through.  Makes  it  bad,  doesn't  it?" 
Lefever  pulled  a  wry  face.  "Duke,  there's  some 
body  yet  around  Calabasas  that  needs  hanging, 
isn't  there?  Yes." 


286 


CHAPTER  XXII 

GALE    PERSISTS 

'ITT'HEN  within  an  hour  de  Spain  joined  Nan, 
tense  with   suspense   and   anxiety,   at  the 
hospital,  she  tried  hard  to  read  his  news  in  his 
face. 

"Have  you  seen  him  ?"  she  asked  eagerly.  De 
Spain  nodded.  "What  does  he  say?" 

"Nothing  very  reasonable." 

Her  face  fell.  "I  knew  he  wouldn't.  Tell  me 
all  about  it,  Henry — everything." 

She  listened  keenly  to  each  word.  De  Spain 
gave  her  a  pretty  accurate  recital  of  the  inter 
view,  and  Nan's  apprehension  grew  with  her 
hearing  of  it. 

"I  knew  it,"  she  repeated  with  conviction.  "I 
know  him  better  than  you  know  him.  What  shall 
we  do?" 

De  Spain  took  both  her  hands.  He  held  them 
against  his  breast  and  stood  looking  into  her  eyes. 
When  he  regarded  her  in  such  a  way  her  doubts 
and  fears  seemed  mean  and  trivial.  He  spoke 
only  one  word,  but  there  was  a  world  of  confi 
dence  in  his  tone:  "Stick." 

287 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

She  arched  her  brows  as  she  returned  his  gaze, 
and  with  a  little  troubled  laugh  drew  closer. 
" Stick,  Nan/'  he  repeated.  "It  will  come  out 
all  right." 

She  paused  a  moment.     "How  can  you  know  ?" 

"I  know  because  it's  got  to.  I  talked  it  all 
over  with  my  best  friend  in  Medicine  Bend,  the 
other  day/' 

"Who,  Henry?" 

"Whispering  Smith.  He  laughed  at  your 
uncle's  opposing  us.  He  said  if  your  uncle  only 
knew  it,  it's  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for 
him.  And  he  said  if  all  the  marriages  opposed 
by  old  folks  had  been  stopped,  there  wouldn't  be 
young  folks  enough  left  to  milk  the  cows." 

"Henry,  what  is  this  report  about  the  Cala- 
basas  barns  burning?" 

"The  old  Number  One  barn  is  gone  and  some 
of  the  old  stages.  We  didn't  lose  any  horses, 
and  the  other  barns  are  all  right.  Some  of  our 
Calabasas  or  Gap  friends,  probably.  No  matter, 
we'll  get  them  all  rounded  up  after  a  while,  Nan. 
Then,  some  fine  day,  we're  going  to  get  married." 

De  Spain  rode  that  night  to  Calabasas  to  look 
into  the  story  of  the  fire. 

McAlpin,  swathed  in  bandages,  made  no  bones 
about  accusing  the  common  enemy.  No  wit 
nesses  could  be  found  to  throw  any  more  light  on 

288 


Gale  Persists 

the  inquiry  than  the  barn  boss  himself.  And  de 
Spain  made  only  a  pretense  of  a  formal  investiga 
tion.  If  he  had  had  any  doubts  about  the  origin 
of  the  fire  they  would  have  been  resolved  by  an 
anonymous  scrawl,  sent  through  the  mail,  promis 
ing  more  if  he  didn't  get  out  of  the  country. 

But  instead  of  getting  out  of  the  country,  de 
Spain  continued  as  a  matter  of  energetic  policy 
to  get  into  it.  He  rode  the  deserts  stripped,  so 
to  say,  for  action  and  walked  the  streets  of  Sleepy 
Cat  welcoming  every  chance  to  meet  men  from 
Music  Mountain  or  the  Sinks.  It  was  on  Nan 
that  the  real  hardships  of  the  situation  fell,  and 
Nan  who  had  to  bear  them  alone  and  almost 
unaided. 

Duke  came  home  a  day  or  two  later  without  a 
word  for  Nan  concerning  his  encounter  with  de 
Spain.  He  was  shorter  in  the  grain  than  ever, 
crustier  to  every  one  than  she  had  ever  known 
him — and  toward  Nan  herself  fiercely  resentful. 
Sassoon  was  in  his  company  a  great  deal,  and 
Nan  knew  of  old  that  Sassoon  was  a  bad  symptom. 
Gale,  too,  came  often,  and  the  three  were  much 
together.  In  some  way,  Nan  felt  that  she  her 
self  was  in  part  the  subject  of  their  talks,  but  no 
information  concerning  them  could  she  ever  get. 

One  morning  she  sat  on  the  porch  sewing  when 
Gale  rode  up.  He  asked  for  her  uncle.  Bonita 

289 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

told  him  Duke  had  gone  to  Calabasas.  Gale  an 
nounced  he  was  bound  for  Calabasas  himself,  and 
dismounted  near  Nan,  professedly  to  cinch  his 
saddle.  He  fussed  with  the  straps  for  a  minute, 
trying  to  engage  Nan  in  the  interval,  without  suc 
cess,  in  conversation.  "Look  here,  Nan/'  he 
said  at  length,  studiously  amiable,  "don't  you 
think  you're  pretty  hard  on  me,  lately?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  she  answered.  "If  Uncle  Duke 
didn't  make  me,  I'd  never  look  at  you,  or  speak  to 
you — or  live  in  the  same  mountains  with  you." 

"I  don't  think  when  a  fellow  cares  for  you  as 
much  as  I  do,  and  gets  out  of  patience  once  in  a 
while,  just  because  he  loves  a  girl  the  way  a  red- 
blooded  man  can't  help  loving  her,  she  ought 
to  hold  it  against  him  forever.  Think  she  ought 
to,  Nan  ?"  he  demanded  after  a  pause.  She  was 
sewing  and  had  kept  silence. 

"I  think,"  she  responded,  showing  her  aversion 
in  every  syllable,  "before  a  man  begins  to  talk 
red-blood  rot,  he  ought  to  find  out  whether  the 
girl  cares  for  him,  or  just  loathes  the  sight  of  him." 

He  regarded  her  fixedly.  Paying  no  attention 
to  him,  but  bending  in  the  sunshine  over  her  sew 
ing,  her  hand  flying  with  the  needle,  her  masses 
of  brown  hair  sweeping  back  around  her  pink  ears 
and  curling  in  stray  ringlets  that  the  wind  danced 
with  while  she  worked,  she  inflamed  her  brawny 

290 


Gale  Persists 

cousin's  ardor  afresh.  "You  used  to  care  for  me, 
Nan.  You  can't  deny  that."  Her  silence  was 
irritating.  "Can  you?"  he  demanded.  "Come, 
put  up  your  work  and  talk  it  out.  I  didn't  use 
to  have  to  coax  you  for  a  word  and  a  smile. 
What's  come  over  you  ?" 

"Nothing  has  come  over  me,  Gale.  I  did  use 
to  like  you — when  I  first  came  back  from  school. 
You  seemed  so  big  and  fine  then,  and  were  so  nice 
to  me.  I  did  like  you." 

"Why  didn't  you  keep  on  liking  me  ?" 

Nan  made  no  answer.  Her  cousin  persisted. 
"You  used  to  talk  about  thinking  the  world  of 
me,"  she  said  at  last;  "then  I  saw  you  one  Fron 
tier  Day,  riding  around  Sleepy  Cat  with  a  car 
riage  full  of  women." 

Gale  burst  into  a  huge  laugh.  Nan's  face 
flushed.  She  bent  over  her  work.  "Oh,  that's 
what's  the  matter  with  you,  is  it  ?"  he  demanded 
jocularly.  "You  never  mentioned  that  before." 

"That  isn't  the  only  thing,"  she  continued 
after  a  pause. 

"Why,  that  was  just  some  Frontier  Day  fun, 
Nan.  A  man's  got  to  be  a  little  bit  of  a  sport 
once  in  a  while,  hasn't  he  ?" 

"Not  if  he  likes  me."  She  spoke  with  an  omi 
nous  distinctness,  but  under  her  breath.  He 
caught  her  words  and  laughed  again.  "Pshaw,  I 

291 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

didn't  think  you'd  get  jealous  over  a  little  thing 
like  that,  Nan.  When  there's  a  celebration  on  in 
town,  everybody's  friendly  with  everybody  else. 
If  you  lay  a  little  thing  like  that  up  against  me, 
where  would  the  rest  of  the  men  get  off?  Your 
strawberry-faced  Medicine  Bend  friend  is  cele 
brating  in  town  most  of  the  time." 

Her  face  turned  white.     "What  a  falsehood!" 
she  exclaimed  hotly.     Looking  at  her,  satisfied,  he 
laughed  whole-heartedly  again.     She  rose,  furious. 
"It's  a  falsehood,"  she  repeated,  "and  I  know  it." 

"I  suppose,"  retorted  Gale,  regarding  her  jo 
cosely,  "you  asked  him  about  it." 

He  had  never  seen  her  so  angry.  She  stamped 
her  foot.  "How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing! 
One  of  those  women  was  at  the  hospital — she  is 
there  yet,  and  she  is  going  to  die  there.  She  told 
Uncle  Duke's  nurse  the  men  they  knew,  and 
whom  they  didn't  know,  at  that  place.  And 
Henry  de  Spain,  when  he  heard  this  miserable 
creature  had  been  taken  to  the  hospital,  and 
Doctor  Torpy  said  she  could  never  get  well,  told 
the  Sister  to  take  care  of  her  and  send  the  bills 
to  him,  because  he  knew  her  father  and  mother 
in  Medicine  Bend  and  went  to  school  with  her 
there  when  she  was  a  decent  girl.  Go  and  hear 
what  she  has  to  say  about  Henry  de  Spain,  you 
contemptible  falsifier." 

292 


Gale  Persists 

Gale  laughed  sardonically.  "That's  right.  I 
like  to  see  a  girl  stick  to  her  friends.  De  Spain 
ought  to  take  care  of  her.  Good  story." 

"And  she  has  other  good  stories,  too,  you  ought 
to  hear/'  continued  Nan  undismayed.  "Most 
of  them  about  you  and  your  fine  friends  in  town. 
She  told  the  nurse  it's  you  who  ought  to  be  pay 
ing  her  bills  till  she  dies." 

Gale  made  a  disclaiming  face  and  a  deprecating 
gesture.  "No,  no,  Nan — let  de  Spain  take  care  of 
his  own.  Be  a  sport  yourself,  girlie,  right  now." 
He  stepped  nearer  her.  Nan  retreated.  "Kiss 
and  make  up,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  laugh.  But 
she  knew  he  was  angry,  and  knew  what  to  guard 
against.  Still  laughing,  he  sprang  toward  her 
and  tried  to  catch  her  arm. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  she  cried,  jumping  away 
with  her  hand  in  her  blouse. 

"You  little  vixen,"  he  exclaimed  with  an 
oath,  "what  have  you  got  there?"  But  he 
halted  at  her  gesture,  and  Nan,  panting,  stood 
her  ground. 

"Keep  away!"  she  cried. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  knife?"  thundered 
Gale. 

"From  one  who  showed  me  how  to  use  it  on  a 
coward  !" 

He  affected  amusement  and  tried  to  pass  the 
293 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

incident  off  as  a  joke.  But  his  dissimulation  was 
more  dangerous,  she  knew,  than  his  brutality, 
and  he  left  her  the  prey  to  more  than  one  alarm 
and  the  renewed  resolve  never  to  be  taken  off  her 
guard.  That  night  he  came  back.  He  told  her 
uncle,  glancing  admiringly  at  Nan  as  he  re 
counted  the  story,  how  she  had  stood  her  ground 
against  him  in  the  morning. 

Nor  did  Nan  like  the  way  her  uncle  acted  while 
he  listened — and  afterward.  He  talked  a  good 
deal  about  Gale  and  the  way  she  was  treating  her 
cousin.  When  Nan  declared  she  never  would 
have  anything  to  do  with  him,  her  uncle  told  her 
with  disconcerting  bluntness  to  get  all  that  out 
of  her  head,  for  she  was  going  to  marry  him. 
When  she  protested  she  never  would,  Duke  told 
her,  with  many  harsh  oaths,  that  she  should  never 
marry  de  Spain  even  if  he  had  to  kill  him  or  get 
killed  to  stop  it,  and  that  if  she  had  any  sense  she 
would  get  ready  to  marry  her  cousin  peaceably, 
adding,  that  if  she  didn't  have  sense,  he  would  see 
himself  it  was  provided  for  her. 

His  threats  left  Nan  aghast.  For  two  days  she 
thought  them  all  over.  Then  she  dressed  to  go 
to  town.  On  her  way  to  the  barn  her  uncle  in 
tercepted  her.  "Where  you  going?" 

"To  Sleepy  Cat,"  returned  Nan,  regarding 
him  collectedly. 

294 


Gale  Persists 

"No,  you're  not,"  he  announced  bluntly. 

Nan  looked  at  him  in  silence.  "I  don't  want 
you  running  to  town  any  more  to  meet  de  Spain," 
added  Duke,  without  any  attempt  to  soften  his 
injunction. 

"But  I've  got  to  go  to  town  once  in  a  while, 
whether  I  meet  Henry  de  Spain  or  not,  Uncle 
Duke." 

"What  do  you  have  to  go  for?" 

"Why,  for  mail,  supplies — everything." 

"Pardaloe  can  attend  to  all  that." 

Nan  shook  her  head.  "Whether  he  can  or  not, 
I'm  not  going  to  be  cut  off  from  going  to  Sleepy 
Cat,  Uncle  Duke — nor  from  seeing  Henry  de 
Spain." 

"Meaning  to  say  you  won't  obey,  eh  ?" 

"When  I'm  going  to  marry  a  man  it  isn't  right 
to  forbid  me  seeing  him." 

"You're  not  going  to  marry  him;  you're  going 
to  marry  Gale,  and  the  quicker  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  it  the  better." 

"You  might  better  tell  me  I  am  going  to  marry 
Bull  Page — I  would  marry  him  first.  I  will  never 
marry  Gale  Morgan  in  the  living  world,  and  I've 
told  you  so  more  than  once." 

He  regarded  his  niece  a  moment  wrathfully 
and,  without  replying,  walked  back  to  the  house. 
Nan,  upset  but  resolute,  went  on  to  the  barn  and 

295 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

asked  Pardaloe  to  saddle  her  pony.  Pardaloe 
shuffled  around  in  an  obliging  way,  but  at  the 
end  of  some  evasion  admitted  he  had  orders  not 
to  do  it.  Nan  flamed  at  the  information.  She 
disliked  Pardaloe  anyway,  not  for  any  reason  she 
could  assign  beyond  the  fact  that  he  had  once 
been  a  chum  of  Gale's.  But  she  was  too  high- 
spirited  to  dispute  with  him,  and  returned  to  the 
house  pink  with  indignation.  Going  straight  to  her 
uncle,  she  protested  against  such  tyranny.  Duke 
was  insensible  alike  to  her  pleas  and  her  threats. 

But  next  morning  Nan  was  up  at  three  o'clock. 
She  made  her  way  into  the  barn  before  a  soul  was 
stirring,  and  at  daybreak  was  well  on  her  way  to 
Sleepy  Cat.  She  telephoned  to  de  Spain's  office 
from  the  hospital  and  went  to  breakfast.  De 
Spain  joined  her  before  she  had  finished,  and  when 
they  left  the  dining-room  she  explained  why  she 
had  disappointed  him  the  day  before.  He  heard 
the  story  with  misgivings. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  looks  to  me,  Nan,"  he  said 
when  she  had  done.  "You  are  like  a  person 
that's  being  bound  tighter  every  day  by  invisible 
cords.  You  don't  see  them  because  you  are  fear 
less.  You  are  too  fearless,  Nan,"  he  added,  with 
apprehension  reflected  in  the  expression  of  his 
face.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I  wish  you'd  do,  and  I 
say  it  knowing  you  won't  do  it,"  he  concluded. 

296 


Gale  Persists 

She  made  light  of  his  fears,  twisting  his  right 
hand  till  it  was  helpless  in  her  two  hands  and 
laughing  at  him.  "How  do  you  know  I  won't 
doit?" 

"Because  I've  asked  you  before.  This  is  it: 
marry  me,  now,  here,  to-day,  and  don't  take  any 
more  chances  out  there." 

"But,  Henry,"  protested  Nan,  "I  can't  marry 
you  now  and  just  run  away  from  poor  Uncle 
Duke.  If  you  will  just  be  patient,  I'll  bring  him 
around  to  our  side." 

"Never,  Nan." 

"Don't  be  so  sure.  I  know  him  better  than 
you  do,  and  when  he  comes  for  anybody,  he  comes 
all  at  once.  Why,  it's  funny,  Henry.  Now  that 
I'm  picking  up  courage,  you're  losing  it!" 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  like  the  way 
things  are  going." 

"Dearie,"  she  urged,  "should  I  be  any  safer 
at  home  if  I  were  your  wife,  than  I  am  as  your 
sweetheart.  I  don't  want  to  start  a  horrible  fam 
ily  war  by  running  away,  and  that  is  just  what 
I  certainly  should  do." 

De  Spain  was  unconvinced.  But  apprehension 
is  short-lived  in  young  hearts.  The  sun  shone, 
the  sky  spread  a  speckless  blue  over  desert  and 
mountain,  the  day  was  for  them  together.  They 
did  not  promise  all  of  it  to  themselves  at  once — 

297 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

they  filched  its  sweetness  bit  by  bit,  moment  by 
moment,  and  hour  by  hour,  declaring  to  each  other 
they  must  part,  and  dulling  the  pain  of  parting 
with  the  anodyne  of  procrastination.  Thus,  the 
whole  day  went  to  their  castles  and  dreams.  In 
a  retired  corner  of  the  cool  dining-room  at  the 
Mountain  House,  they  lingered  together  over 
a  long-drawn-out  dinner.  The  better-informed 
guests  by  asides  indicated  their  presence  to  others. 
They  described  them  as  the  hardy  couple  who  had 
first  met  in  a  stiff  Frontier  Day  rifle  match,  which 
the  girl  had  won.  Her  defeated  rival — the  man 
now  most  regarded  and  feared  in  the  mountain 
country — was  the  man  with  the  reticent  mouth, 
mild  eyes,  curious  birthmark,  and  with  the  two 
little,  perplexed  wrinkles  visible  most  of  the  time 
just  between  his  dark  eyebrows,  the  man  listening 
intently  to  every  syllable  that  fell  from  the  lips 
of  the  trimly  bloused,  active  girl  opposite  him, 
leaning  forward  in  her  eagerness  to  tell  him  things. 
Her  jacket  hung  over  the  back  of  her  chair,  and 
she  herself  was  referred  to  by  the  more  fanciful  as 
queen  of  the  outlaw  camp  at  Music  Mountain. 

They  two  were  seen  together  that  day  about 
town  by  many,  for  the  story  of  their  courtship 
was  still  veiled  in  mystery  and  afforded  ground 
for  the  widest  speculation,  while  that  of  their 
difficulties,  and  such  particulars  as  de  Spain's 

298 


Gale  Persists 

fruitless  efforts  to  conciliate  Duke  Morgan  and 
Duke's  open  threats  against  de  Spain's  life  were 
widely  known.  All  these  details  made  the  move 
ment  and  the  fate  of  the  young  couple  the  object 
of  keenly  curious  comment. 

In  the  late  afternoon  the  two  rode  almost  the 
whole  length  of  Main  Street  together  on  their 
way  to  the  river  bridge.  Every  one  knew  the 
horseflesh  they  bestrode — none  cleaner-limbed, 
hardier,  or  faster  in  the  high  country.  Those 
that  watched  them  amble  slowly  past,  laughing 
and  talking,  intent  only  on  each  other,  erect, 
poised,  and  motionless,  as  if  moulded  to  their 
saddles,  often  spoke  of  having  seen  Nan  and  her 
lover  that  day.  It  was  a  long  time  before  they 
were  seen  riding  down  Main  Street  together  again. 


299 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DE    SPAIN   WORRIES 

'  I  AHEY  parted  that  evening  under  the  shadow 
of  Music  Mountain.  Nan  believed  she  could 
at  least  win  her  Uncle  Duke  over  from  any  effort 
of  Gale's  to  coerce  her.  Her  influence  over  her 
uncle  had  never  yet  failed,  and  she  was  firm  in 
the  conviction  she  could  gain  him  to  her  side, 
since  he  had  everything  to  win  and  nothing  to 
lose  by  siding  against  Gale,  whom  he  disliked  and 
distrusted,  anyway. 

For  de  Spain  there  was  manifestly  nothing  to 
do  but  doubtfully  to  let  Nan  try  out  her  influ 
ence.  They  agreed  to  meet  in  Calabasas  just  as 
soon  as  Nan  could  get  away.  She  hoped,  she 
told  him,  to  bring  good  news.  De  Spain  arranged 
his  business  to  wait  at  Calabasas  for  her,  and  was 
there,  after  two  days,  doing  little  but  waiting  and 
listening  to  McAlpin's  stories  about  the  fire  and 
surmises  as  to  strange  men  that  lurked  in  and 
about  the  place.  But  de  Spain,  knowing  Jeffries 
"was  making  an  independent  investigation  into 
the  affair,  gave  no  heed  to  McAlpin's  suspicions. 

To  get  away  from  the  barn  boss,  de  Spain  took 
300 


De  Spain  Worries 

refuge  in  riding.  The  season  was  drawing  on 
toward  winter,  and  rain  clouds  drifting  at  inter 
vals  down  from  the  mountains  made  the  saddle  a 
less  dependable  escape  from  the  monotony  of 
Calabasas.  Several  days  passed  with  no  sight  of 
Nan  and  no  word  from  her.  De  Spain,  as  the 
hours  and  days  went  by,  scanned  the  horizon  with 
increasing  solicitude.  When  he  woke  on  the 
sixth  morning,  he  was  resolved  to  send  a  scout 
into  the  Gap  to  learn  what  he  could  of  the  situa 
tion.  The  long  silence,  de  Spain  knew,  por 
tended  nothing  good.  And  the  vexing  feature  of 
his  predicament  was  that  he  had  at  hand  no 
trustworthy  spy  to  despatch  for  information;  to 
secure  one  would  be  a  matter  of  delay.  He  was 
schooled,  however,  to  making  use  of  such  material 
as  he  had  at  hand,  and  when  he  had  made  up  his 
mind,  he  sent  to  the  stable  for  Bull  Page. 

The  shambling  barn  man,  summoned  gruffly  by 
McAlpin,  hesitated  as  he  appeared  at  the  office 
door  and  seemed  to  regard  the  situation  with 
suspicion.  He  looked  at  de  Spain  tentatively,  as 
if  ready  either  for  the  discharge  with  which  he 
was  daily  threatened  or  for  a  renewal  of  his 
earlier,  friendly  relations  with  the  man  who  had 
been  queer  enough  to  make  a  place  for  him.  De 
Spain  set  Bull  down  before  him  in  the  stuffy 
little  office. 

301 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Bull,"  he  began  with  apparent  frankness,  "I 
want  to  know  how  you  like  your  job." 

Wiping  his  mouth  guardedly  with  his  hand  to 
play  for  time  and  as  an  introduction  to  a  care 
fully  worded  reply,  Bull  parried.  "Mr.  de  Spain, 
I  want  to  ask  you  just  one  fair  question." 

"Go  ahead,  Bull." 

Bull  plunged  promptly  into  the  suspicion  up 
permost  in  his  mind.  "Has  that  slat-eyed,  flat- 
headed,  sun-sapped  sneak  of  a  Scotchman  been 
complaining  of  my  work  ?  That,  Mr.  de  Spain," 
emphasized  Bull,  leaning  forward,  "is  what  I 
want  to  know  first — is  it  a  fair  question  ?" 

"Bull,"  returned  de  Spain  with  corresponding 
and  ceremonial  emphasis,  "it  is  a  fair  question 
between  man  and  man.  I  admit  it;  it  is  a  fair 
question.  And  I  answer,  no,  Bull.  McAlpin  has 
had  nothing  on  the  face  of  the  desert  to  do  with 
my  sending  for  you.  And  I  add  this  because  I 
know  you  want  to  hear  it:  he  says  he  couldn't 
complain  of  your  work,  because  you  never  do 
any." 

"That  man,"  persisted  Bull,  reinforced  by  the 
hearty  tone  and  not  clearly  catching  the  drift  of 
the  very  last  words,  "drinks  more  liquor  than  I 
do." 

"He  must  be  some  tank,  Bull." 

"And  I  don't  hide  it,  Mr.  de  Spain." 
302 


De  Spain  Worries 

" You'd  have  to  crawl  under  Music  Mountain 
to  do  that.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  do  you  like 
your  job  ?" 

On  this  point  it  was  impossible  to  get"  an  ex 
pression  from  Bull.  He  felt  convinced  that  de 
Spain  was  pressing  for  an  answer  only  as  a  pre 
liminary  to  his  discharge.  "No  matter,"  inter 
posed  the  latter,  cutting  Bull's  ramblings  short, 
"drop  it,  Bull.  I  want  you  to  do  something  for 
me,  and  I'll  pay  for  it." 

Bull,  with  a  palsied  smile  and  a  deep,  quaver 
ing  note  of  gratitude,  put  up  his  shaky  hand. 
"Say  what.  That's  all.  I've  been  paid." 

"You  know  you're  a  sot,  Bull." 

Bull  nodded.     "I  know  it." 

"A  disgrace  to  the  Maker  whose  image  you 
were  made  in." 

Bull  started,  but  seemed,  on  reflection,  to  con 
sider  this  a  point  on  which  he  need  not  commit 
himself. 

"Still,  I  believe  there's  a  man  in  you  yet. 
Something,  at  any  rate,  you  couldn't  completely 
kill  with  whiskey,  Bull — what  ?" 

Bull  lifted  his  weak  and  watery  eyes.  His 
whiskey-seamed  face  brightened  into  the  ghost  of 
a  smile.  "What  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do," 
continued  de  Spain,  "is  a  man's  job.  You  can 
get  into  the  Gap  without  trouble.  You  are  the 

303 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

only  man  I  can  put  my  hand  on  just  now,  that 
can.  I  want  you  to  ride  over  this  morning  and 
hang  out  around  Duke  Morgan's  place  till  you 
can  get  a  chance  to  see  Miss  Nan " 

At  the  mention  of  her  name,  Bull  shook  his 
head  a  moment  in  affirmative  approval.  "She's 
a  queen!"  he  exclaimed  with  admiring  but  pun 
gent  expletives.  "A  queen!" 

"I  think  so,  Bull.  But  she  is  in  troublesome 
circumstances.  You  know  Nan  and  I " 

Bull  winked  in  many  ways. 

"And  her  Uncle  Duke  is  making  us  trouble, 
Bull.  I  want  you  to  find  her,  speak  with  her, 
and  bring  word  to  me  as  to  what  the  situation  is. 
That  doesn't  mean  you're  to  get  drunk  over  there 
— in  fact,  I  don't  think  anybody  over  there  would 
give  you  a  drink— 

"Don't  believe  they  would." 

"And  you  are  to  ride  back  here  with  what  you 
can  find  out  just  as  quick,  after  you  get  into  the 
clear,  as  a  horse  will  bring  you." 

Bull  passed  his  hand  over  his  mouth  with  a 
show  of  resolution.  It  indicated  that  he  was  pull 
ing  himself  together.  Within  half  an  hour  he  was 
on  his  way  to  the  Gap. 

For  de  Spain  hours  never  dragged  as  did  the 
hours  between  his  starting  and  the  setting  of  the 
sun  that  night  without  his  return.  And  the  sun 

304 


De  Spain  Worries 

set  behind  Music  Mountain  in  a  drift  of  heavy 
clouds  that  brought  rain.  All  evening  it  fell 
steadily.  At  eleven  o'clock  de  Spain  had  given 
up  hope  of  seeing  his  emissary  before  morning 
and  was  sitting  alone  before  the  stove  in  the  office 
when  he  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs.  In  another 
moment  Bull  Page  stood  at  the  door. 

He  was  a  sorry  sight.  Soaked  to  the  skin  by 
the  steady  downpour;  rain  dripping  intermittently 
from  his  frayed  hat,  his  ragged  beard,  and  tattered 
coat;  shaking  with  the  cold  as  if  gripped  by  an 
ague,  Bull,  picking  his  staggering  steps  to  the  fire, 
and  sinking  in  a  heap  into  a  chair,  symbolized 
the  uttermost  tribute  of  manhood  to  the  ravages 
of  whiskey.  He  was  not  drunk.  He  had  not  even 
been  drinking;  but  his  vitality  was  gone.  He 
tried  to  speak.  It  was  impossible.  His  tongue 
would  not  frame  words,  nor  his  throat  utter  them. 
He  could  only  look  helplessly  at  de  Spain  as  de 
Spain  hastily  made  him  stand  up  on  his  shaking 
knees,  threw  a  big  blanket  around  him,  sat  him 
down,  kicked  open  the  stove  drafts,  and  called  to 
McAlpin  for  more  whiskey  to  steady  the  wreck  of 
it  crouching  over  the  fire. 

McAlpin  after  considerable  and  reluctant  search 
produced  a  bottle,  and  unwilling,  for  more  reasons 
than  one,  to  trust  it  to  Bull's  uncertain  possession, 
brought  a  dipper.  Bull  held  the  dipper  while  de 

305 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Spain  poured.  McAlpin,  behind  the  stove,  hopped 
first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other  as  de  Spain 
recklessly  continued  to  pour.  When  the  liquor 
half  filled  the  cup,  McAlpin  put  out  unmistakable 
distress  signals,  but  Bull,  watching  the  brown 
stream,  his  eyes  galvanized  at  the  sight,  held  fast 
to  the  handle  and  made  no  sign  to  stop.  "Bull !" 
thundered  the  barn  boss  with  an  emphatic  word. 
"That  is  Elpaso's  bottle.  What  are  you  dreaming 
of,  man  ?  Mr.  de  Spain,  you'll  kill  him.  Don't 
ye  see  he  can't  tell  ye  to  stop  ?" 

Bull,  with  the  last  flickering  spark  of  vitality 
still  left  within  him,  looked  steadily  up  and  winked 
at  de  Spain.  McAlpin,  outraged,  stamped  out 
of  the  room.  Steadying  the  dipper  in  both  hands, 
Bull  with  an  effort  passed  one  hand  at  the  final 
moment  preliminarily  over  his  mouth,  and,  raising 
the  bowl,  emptied  it.  The  poison  electrified  him 
into  utterance.  "I  seen  her,"  he  declared,  holding 
his  chin  well  down  and  in,  and  speaking  in  a  par 
donably  proud  throat. 

"Good,  Bull!" 

"They've  got  things  tied  up  for  fair  over  there." 
He  spoke  slowly  and  brokenly.  "I  never  got  in 
side  the  house  till  after  supper.  Toward  night 
I  helped  Pardaloe  put  up  the  stock.  He  let  me 
into  the  kitchen  after  my  coaxing  for  a  cup  of 
coffee — he's  an  ornery,  cold-blooded  guy,  that 

306 


De  Spain  Worries 

Pardaloe.  Old  Duke  and  Sassoon  think  the  sun 
rises  and  sets  on  the  top  of  his  head — funny, 
ain't  it?" 

De  Spain  made  no  comment.  "Whilst  I  was 
drinking  my  coffee — 

"Who  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

"Old  Bunny,  the  Mex.  Pardaloe  goes  out  to 
the  bunk-house;  I  sits  down  to  my  supper,  alone, 
with  Bunny  at  the  stove.  All  of  a  sudden  who 
comes  a-trippin'  in  from  the  front  of  the  house 
but  Nan.  I  jumped  up  as  strong  as  I  could,  but 
I  was  too  cold  and  stiff  to  jump  up  real  strong. 
She  seen  me,  but  didn't  pay  no  attention.  I 
dropped  my  spoon  on  the  floor.  It  didn't  do  no 
good,  neither,  so  I  pushed  a  hot  plate  of  ham 
gravy  off  the  table.  It  hit  the  dog  'n'  he  jumped 
like  kingdom  come.  Old  Bunny  sails  into  me, 
Nan  a-watchin',  and  while  Mex  was  pickin'  up 
and  cleanin'  up,  I  sneaks  over  to  the  stove  and 
winks  at  Nan.  Say,  you  oughter  seen  her  look 
mad  at  me.  She  was  hot,  but  I  kept  a-winkin' 
and  I  says  to  her  kind  of  husky-like:  'Got  any 
letters  for  Calabasas  to-night?'  Say,  she  looked 
at  me  as  if  she'd  bore  holes  into  me,  but  I  stood 
right  up  and  glared  back  at  the  little  girl.  'Come 
from  there  this  mornin','  says  I,  low,  'going  back 
to-night.  Some  one  waiting  there  for  news.' 

"By  jing !  Just  as  I  got  the  words  out  o'  my 
307 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

mouth  who  comes  a-stalking  in  but  Gale  Morgan. 
The  minute  he  seen  me,  he  lit  on  me  to  beat  the 
band — called  me  everything  he  could  lay  his 
tongue  to.  I  let  on  I  was  drunk,  but  that  didn't 
help.  He  ordered  me  off  the  premises.  'N'  the 
worst  of  it  was,  Nan  chimed  right  in  and  began 
to  scold  Bunny  for  lettin'  me  in — and  leaves  the 
room,  quick-like.  Bunny  put  it  on  Pardaloe,  and 
she  and  Gale  had  it,  and  b'  jing,  Gale  put  me  out 
—said  he'd  pepper  me.  But  wait  till  I  tell  y' 
how  she  fooled  him.  It  was  rainin'  like  hell,  V 
it  looked  as  if  I  was  booked  for  a  ride  through  it 
and  hadn't  half  drunk  my  second  cup  of  coffee 
at  that.  I  starts  for  the  barn,  when  some  one  in 
the  dark  on  the  porch  grabs  my  arm,  spins  me 
around  like  a  top,  throws  a  flasher  up  into  my 
face,  and  there  was  Nan.  'Bull,'  she  says,  'I'm 
sorry.  I  don't  want  to  see  you  ride  out  in  this 
with  nothing  to  eat;  come  this  way  quick/ 

"She  took  me  down  cellar  from  the  outside, 
under  the  kitchen.  When  Gale  goes  out  again 
she  flings  up  the  trap-door,  speaks  to  Mex,  pulls 
all  the  kitchen  shades  down,  locks  the  doors,  and 
I  sets  down  on  the  trap-door  steps  'n'  eats  a  pipin' 
hot  supper;  say  !  Well,  I  reckon  I  drank  a  couple 
o'  quarts  of  coffee.  'Bull,'  she  says,  'I  never 
done  you  no  harm,  did  I  ?'  'Never/  says  I, 
'and  I  never  done  you  none,  neither,  did  I  ?  And 

308 


De  Spain  Worries 

what's  more,  I  never  will  do  you  none/  Then  I 
up  and  told  her.  'Tell  him/  says  she,  'I  can't 
get  hold  of  a  horse,  nor  a  pen,  nor  a  piece  of  paper 
—I  can't  leave  the  house  but  what  I  am  watched 
every  minute.  They  keep  track  of  me  day  and 
night.  Tell  him,'  she  says,  'I  can  protect  myself; 
they  think  they'll  break  me — make  me  do  what 
they  want  me  to — marry — but  they  can't  break 
me,  and  I'll  never  do  it — tell  him  that.' 

"'But,'  says  I,  'that  ain't  the  whole  case,  Miss 
Nan.  What  he'll  ask  me,  when  he's  borin' 
through  me  with  his  eyes  like  the  way  you're 
borin'  me  through  with  yours,  is:  When  will  you 
see  him — when  will  he  see  you  ?' 

"She  looked  worrit  for  a  minit.  Then  she 
looks  around,  grabs  up  the  cover  of  an  empty 
'bacco  box  and  a  fork  and  begins  a-writing  in 
side."  Bull,  with  as  much  of  a  smile  as  he  could 
call  into  life  from  his  broken  nerves,  opened  up 
his  blanket,  drew  carefully  from  an  inside  coat 
pocket  an  oilskin  package,  unwrapped  from  it  the 
flat,  square  top  of  a  tin  tobacco  box  on  which 
Nan  had  scratched  a  message,  and  handed  it 
triumphantly  to  de  Spain. 

He  read  her  words  eagerly: 

"Wait;  don't  have  trouble.  I  can  stand  any 
thing  better  than  bloodshed,  Henry.  Be  patient." 

While  de  Spain,  standing  close  to  the  lantern, 
309 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

deciphered  the  brief  note,  Bull,  wrapping  his 
blanket  about  him  with  the  air  of  one  whose  re 
sponsibility  is  well  ended,  held  out  his  hands 
toward  the  blazing  stove.  De  Spain  went  over 
the  words  one  by  one,  and  the  letters  again  and 
again.  It  was,  after  all  their  months  of  ardent 
meetings,  the  first  written  message  he  had  ever 
had  from  Nan.  He  flamed  angrily  at  the  news 
that  she  was  prisoner  in  her  own  home.  But 
there  was  much  to  weigh  in  her  etched  words, 
much  to  think  about  concerning  her  feelings — 
not  alone  concerning  his  own. 

He  dropped  into  his  chair  and,  oblivious  for  a 
moment  of  his  companion's  presence,  stared  into 
the  fire.  When  he  started  from  his  revery  Bull 
was  asleep.  De  Spain  picked  him  up,  carried  him 
in  his  blanket  over  to  a  cot,  cut  the  wet  rags  off 
him,  and,  rolling  him  in  a  second  blanket,  walked 
out  into  the  barn  and  ordered  up  a  team  and  light 
wagon  for  Sleepy  Cat.  The  rain  fell  all  night. 


310 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AN    OMINOUS    MESSAGE 

men  bear  suspense  well;  de  Spain  took 
his  turn  at  it  very  hard.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  found  himself  braved  by  men  of  a 
type  whose  defiance  he  despised — whose  lawless 
ness  he  ordinarily  warred  on  without  compunc 
tion — but  himself  without  the  freedom  that  had 
always  been  his  to  act.  Every  impulse  to  take 
the  bit  in  his  teeth  was  met  with  the  same  insur 
mountable  obstacle — Nan's  feelings — and  the  un 
pleasant  possibility  that  might  involve  him  in 
bloodshed  with  her  kinspeople. 

"Patience."  He  repeated  the  word  to  himself 
a  thousand  times  to  deaden  his  suspense  and  ap 
prehension.  Business  affairs  took  much  of  his 
time,  but  Nan's  situation  took  most  of  his  thought. 
For  the  first  time  he  told  John  Lefever  the  story 
of  Nan's  finding  him  on  Music  Mountain,  of  her 
aid  in  his  escape,  and  the  sequel  of  their  friend 
ship.  Lefever  gave  it  to  Bob  Scott  in  Jeffries's 
office. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  John?"  demanded  Bob 
mildly. 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"No  matter  what  you  told  me,"  retorted  Le- 
fever.  "The  question  is:  What's  he  to  do  to  get 
Nan  away  from  there  without  shooting  up  the 
Morgans?" 

De  Spain  had  gone  that  morning  to  Medicine 
Bend.  He  got  back  late  and,  after  a  supper  at 
the  Mountain  House,  went  directly  to  his  room. 

The  telephone-bell  was  ringing  when  he  un 
locked  and  threw  open  his  door.  Entering  the 
room,  he  turned  on  a  light,  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  and  sat  down  to  answer  the  call. 

"Is  this  Henry  de  Spain  ?"  came  a  voice,  slowly 
pronouncing  the  words  over  the  wire. 

"Yes." 

"I  have  a  message  for  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"From  Music  Mountain." 

"Go  ahead." 

"The  message  is  like  this:  'Take  me  away  from 
here  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"Whom  is  that  message  from?" 

"I  can't  call  any  names." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Just  what  I  say.     Good-by." 

"Hold  on.     Where  are  you  talking  from  ?" 

"About  a  block  from  your  office." 
312 


An  Ominous  Message 

"Do  you  think  it  a  fair  way  to  treat  a  man 

» 

"I  have  to  be  fair  to  myself." 

"Give  me  the  message  again." 
'Take  me  away  from  here  as  soon  as  you  can/ ' 

"Where  does  it  come  from?" 

"Music  Mountain." 

"If  you're  treating  me  fair — and  I  believe  you 
mean  to — come  over  to  my  room  a  minute." 

"No." 

"Let  me  come  to  where  you  are?" 

"No." 

"Let  me  wait  for  you — anywhere  ?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  know  me  ?" 

"By  sight." 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  in  town  to-night  ?" 

"I  saw  you  get  off  the  train." 

"You  were  looking  for  me,  then  ?" 

"To  deliver  my  message." 

"Do  you  think  that  message  means  what  it 
says?" 

"I  know  it  does." 

"Do  you  know  what  it  means  for  me  to  under 
take?" 

"I  have  a  pretty  stiff  idea." 

"Did  you   get   it   direct   from  the  party  who 
sent  it?" 

313 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"I  can't  talk  all  night.  Take  it  or  leave  it 
just  where  it  is." 

De  Spain  heard  him  close.  He  closed  his  own 
instrument  and  began  feverishly  signalling  cen 
tral.  "This  is  101.  Henry  de  Spain  talking,"  he 
said  briskly.  "You  just  called  me.  Ten  dollars 
for  you,  operator,  if  you  can  locate  that  call, 
quick!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  delay  at  the  central 
office,  then  the  answer:  "It  came  from  234 — 
Tenison's  saloon." 

"Give  me  your  name,  operator.  Good.  Now 
give  me  22  as  quick  as  the  Lord  will  let  you,  and 
ring  the  neck  off  the  bell." 

Lefever  answered  the  call  on  number  22.  The 
talk  was  quick  and  sharp.  Messengers  were  in 
stantly  pressed  into  service  from  the  despatcher's 
office.  Telephone  wires  hummed,  and  every  man 
available  on  the  special  agent's  force  was  brought 
into  action.  Livery-stables  were  covered,  the 
public  resorts  were  put  under  observation,  horse 
men  clattered  up  and  down  the  street.  Within 
an  incredibly  short  time  the  town  was  rounded 
up,  every  outgoing  trail  watched,  and  search  was 
under  way  for  any  one  from  Morgan's  Gap,  and 
especially  for  the  sender  of  the  telephone  mes 
sage. 

De  Spain,  after  instructing  Lefever,  hastened 
3H 


An  Ominous  Message 

to  Tenison's.  His  rapid  questioning  of  the  few 
habitues  of  the  place  and  the  bartender  elicited  only 
the  information  that  a  man  had  used  the  telephone- 
booth  within  a  few  minutes.  Nobody  knew  him 
or,  if  they  did  know  him,  refused  to  describe  him 
in  any  but  vague  terms.  He  had  come  in  by  the 
front  door  and  slipped  out  probably  by  the  rear 
door — at  all  events,  unnoticed  by  those  questioned. 
By  a  series  of  eliminating  inquiries,  de  Spain 
made  out  only  that  the  man  was  not  a  Morgan. 
Outside,  Bob  Scott  in  the  saddle  waited  with  a 
led  horse.  The  two  men  rode  straight  and  hard 
for  the  river  bridge.  They  roused  an  old  hunter 
who  lived  in  a  near-by  hut,  on  the  town  side,  and 
asked  whether  any  horseman  had  crossed  the 
bridge.  The  hunter  admitted  gruffly  that  he  had 
heard  a  horse's  hoof  recently  on  the  bridge. 
Within  how  long  ?  The  hunter,  after  taking  a 
full  precious  minute  to  decide,  said  thirty  minutes; 
moreover,  he  insisted  that  the  horseman  he  had 
heard  had  ridden  into  town,  and  not  out. 

Sceptical  of  the  correctness  of  the  information, 
Scott  and  de  Spain  clattered  out  on  the  Sinks. 
Their  horseflesh  was  good  and  they  felt  they 
could  overtake  any  man  not  suspecting  pursuit. 
The  sky  was  overcast,  and  speed  was  their  only 
resource.  After  two  miles  of  riding,  the  pursuers 
reined  up  on  a  ridge,  and  Scott,  springing  from  the 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

saddle,  listened  for  sounds.  He  rose  from  the 
ground,  declaring  he  could  hear  the  strides  of  a 
running  horse.  Again  the  two  dashed  ahead. 

The  chase  was  bootless.  Whoever  rode  before 
them  easily  eluded  pursuit.  The  next  time  the 
scout  dropped  from  his  saddle  to  listen,  not  the 
faintest  sound  rewarded  his  attention.  De  Spain 
was  impatient.  "He  could  easily  slip  us,"  Scott 
explained,  "by  leaving  the  trail  for  a  minute 
while  we  rode  past — if  he  knows  his  business — 
and  I  guess  he  does." 

"If  the  old  man  was  right,  that  man  could  have 
ridden  in  town  and  out,  too,  within  half  to  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,"  said  de  Spain.  But  how 
could  he  have  got  out  without  being  heard  ?" 

"Maybe,"    suggested    Scott,    "he    forded    the 


river." 


"Could  he  do  it?" 

"It's  a  man's  job,"  returned  Scott,  reflecting, 
"but  it  could  be  done." 

"If  a  man  thought  it  necessary." 

"If  he  knew  you  by  sight,"  responded  Scott 
unmoved,  "he  might  have  thought  it  necessary." 

Undeterred  by  his  failure  to  overtake  the  fugi 
tive,  de  Spain  rode  rapidly  back  to  town  to  look 
for  other  clews.  Nothing  further  was  found  to 
throw  light  on  the  message  or  messenger.  No 
one  had  been  found  anywhere  in  town  from  Mor- 

316 


An  Ominous  Message 

gan's  Gap;  whoever  had  taken  a  chance  in  de 
livering  the  message  had  escaped  undetected. 

Even  after  the  search  had  been  abandoned  the 
significance  of  the  incident  remained  to  be  weighed. 
De  Spain  was  much  upset.  A  conference  with 
Scott,  whose  judgment  in  any  affair  was  marked 
by  good  sense,  and  with  Lefever,  who,  like  a 
woman,  reached  by  intuition  a  conclusion  at 
which  Scott  or  de  Spain  arrived  by  process  of 
thought,  only  revealed  the  fact  that  all  three, 
as  Lefever  confessed,  were  nonplussed. 

"It's  one  of  two  things,"  declared  Lefever, 
whose  eyes  were  never  dulled  by  late  hours. 
"Either  they've  sent  this  to  lure  you  into  the  Gap 
and  'get'  you,  or  else — and  that's  a  great  big  vor 
else' — she  needs  you.  Henry,  did  that  message 
—I  mean  the  way  it  was  worded — sound  like  Nan 
Morgan?" 

De  Spain  could  hardly  answer.  "It  did,  and 
it  didn't,"  he  said  finally.  "But—  '  his  com 
panions  saw  during  the  pause  by  which  his  lips 
expressed  the  resolve  he  had  finally  reached  that 
he  was  not  likely  to  be  turned  from  it— "I  am 
going  to  act  just  as  if  the  word  came  from  Nan 
and  she  does  need  me." 

More  than  one  scheme  for  getting  quickly  into 
touch  with  Nan  was  proposed  and  rejected  within 
the  next  ten  minutes.  And  when  Lefever,  after 

317 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

conferring  with  Scott,  put  up  to  de  Spain  a  pro 
posal  that  the  three  should  ride  into  the  Gap 
together  and  demand  Nan  at  the  hands  of  Duke 
Morgan,  de  Spain  had  reached  another  con 
clusion. 

"I  know  you  are  willing  to  take  more  than  your 
share,  John,  of  any  game  I  play.  In  the  first 
place  it  isn't  right  to  take  you  and  Bob  in  where 
I  am  going  on  my  own  personal  affair.  And  I 
know  Nan  wouldn't  enjoy  the  prospect  of  an  all- 
around  fight  on  her  account.  Fighting  is  a  horror 
to  that  girl.  I've  got  her  feelings  to  think  about 
as  well  as  my  own.  I've  decided  what  to  do, 
John.  I'm  going  in  alone." 

"You're  going  in  alone!" 

"To-night.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  like 
you  to  do  if  you  want  to :  ride  with  me  and  wait 
till  morning,  outside  El  Capitan.  If  you  don't 
hear  from  me  by  ten  o'clock,  ride  back  to  Cala- 
basas  and  notify  Jeffries  to  look  for  a  new  man- 
ager." 

"On  the  contrary,  if  we  don't  hear  from  you 
by  ten  o'clock,  Henry,  we  will  blaze  our  way  in 
and  drag  out  your  body."  Lefever  put  up  his 
hand  to  cut  off  any  rejoinder.  "Don't  discuss  it. 
What  happens  after  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  if  we  don't  hear  from  you  before  that,  can't 
possibly  be  of  any  interest  to  you  or  make  any 

318 


An  Ominous  Message 

difference."  He  paused,  but  de  Spain  saw  that 
he  was  not  done.  When  he  resumed,  he  spoke 
in  a  tone  different  from  that  which  de  Spain  usu 
ally  associated  with  him.  "Henry,  when  I  was  a 
youngster  and  going  to  Sunday-school,  my  old 
Aunt  Lou  often  told  me  a  story  about  a  pitcher 
that  used  to  go  to  the  well.  And  she  told  me  it 
went  many,  many  times,  safe  and  sound;  but  my 
Aunt  Lou  told  me,  further,  the  pitcher  got  so  used 
to  going  to  the  well  safe  and  sound  that  it  finally 
went  once  too  many  times,  just  once  too  often, 
and  got  smashed  all  to  hell.  Aunt  Lou  didn't 
say  it  exactly  in  that  way — but  such  was  the 
substance  of  the  moral. 

"  You've  pulled  a  good  many  tough  games  in 
this  country,  Henry.  No  man  knows  better  than 
I  that  you  never  pulled  one  for  the  looks  of  the 
thing  or  to  make  people  talk — or  that  you  ever 
took  a  chance  you  didn't  feel  you  had  to  take. 
But,  it  isn't  humanly  possible  you  can  keep  this 
up  for  all  time;  it  cant  go  on  forever.  The 
pitcher  goes  to  the  well  once  too  often,  Henry; 
there  comes  a  time  when  it  doesn't  come  back. 

"Understand — I'm  not  saying  this  to  attempt 
to  dissuade  you  from  the  worst  job  you  ever 
started  in  on.  I  know  your  mind  is  made  up. 
You  won't  listen  to  me;  you  won't  listen  to  Scott; 
and  I'm  too  good  an  Indian  not  to  know  where  I 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

get  off,  or  not  to  do  what  I'm  told.  But  this  is 
what  I  have  been  thinking  of  a  long,  long  time; 
and  this  is  what  I  feel  I  ought  to  say,  here  and 


now." 


The  two  men  were  sitting  in  de  Spain's  room. 
De  Spain  was  staring  through  the  broad  south 
window  at  the  white-capped  peaks  of  the  distant 
range.  He  was  silent  for  a  time.  "I  believe 
you're  right,  John,"  he  said  after  a  while.  "I 
know  you  are.  In  this  case  I  am  tied  up  more 
than  I've  ever  been  tied  before;  but  I've  got  to 
see  it  through  as  best  I  can,  and  take  what  comes 
without  whining.  My  mind  is  made  up  and, 
strange  as  it  may  sound  to  you,  I  feel  that  I  am 
coming  back.  Not  but  what  I  know  it's  due  me, 
John.  Not  but  what  I  expect  to  get  it  sometime. 
And  maybe  I'm  wrong  now;  but  I  don't  feel  as 
if  it's  coming  till  I've  given  all  the  protection  to 
that  girl  that  a  man  can  give  to  a  woman." 


320 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A    SURPRISING    SLIP 

OCOTT  was  called  by  Lefever  to  conclude  in 
^  secret  the  final  arrangements.  The  ground 
about  the  quaking  asp  grove,  and  nearest  El 
Capitan,  afforded  the  best  concealment  close  to 
the  Gap.  And  to  this  point  Scott  was  directed 
to  bring  what  men  he  could  before  daybreak  the 
following  morning. 

"It's  a  short  notice  to  get  many  men  together 
— of  the  kind  we  want,"  admitted  Lefever. 
"You'll  have  to  skirmish  some  between  now  and 
midnight.  What  do  you  think  you  can  do  ?" 

Scott  had  already  made  up  a  tentative  list. 
He  named  four:  first,  Farrell  Kennedy,  who  was 
in  town,  and  said  nobody  should  go  if  he  didn't; 
Frank  Elpaso,  the  Texan;  the  Englishman,  Tom- 
mie  Meggeson;  and  Wickwire,  if  he  could  be 
located — any  one  of  them,  Lefever  knew,  could 
give  an  account  of  himself  under  all  circumstances. 

While  Scott  was  getting  his  men  together,  de 
Spain,  accompanied  by  Lefever,  was  riding  toward 
Music  Mountain.  Scott  had  urged  on  them  but 
one  parting  caution — not  to  leave  the  aspens  until 

321 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

rain  began  falling.  When  he  spoke  there  was  not 
a  cloud  in  the  sky.  "It's  going  to  rain  to-night, 
just  the  same,"  predicted  Scott.  "Don't  leave 
the  trees  till  it  gets  going.  Those  Gap  scouts  will 
get  under  cover  and  be  hunting  FOF  a  drink  the 
minute  it  gets  cold — I  know  them.  You  can  ride 
right  over  their  toes,  if  you'll  be  patient." 

The  sun  set  across  the  range  in  a  drift  of  gray 
ish-black,  low-lying  clouds,  which  seemed  only  to 
await  its  disappearance  to  envelop  the  moun 
tains  and  empty  their  moisture  on  the  desert. 
By  the  time  de  Spain  and  Lefever  reached  the 
end  of  their  long  ride  a  misty  rain  was  drifting 
down  from  the  west.  The  two  men  had  just 
ridden  into  the  quaking  asps  when  a  man  coming 
out  of  the  Gap  almost  rode  into  them.  The  in 
truders  had  halted  and  were  sufficiently  hidden  to 
escape  notice,  had  not  Lefever's  horse  indiscreetly 
coughed.  The  man  from  the  Gap  reined  up  and 
called  out.  Lefever  answered. 

"It's  Bull  Page,"  declared  de  Spain,  after  the 
exchange  of  a  few  words,  calling  to  Bull  at  the 
same  time  to  come  over  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 

"What's  going  on  in  there,  Bull?"  asked  de 
Spain  after  Bull  had  told  him  that  Gale  had 
driven  him  out,  and  he  was  heading  for  Calabasas. 

"You  tell,"  retorted  Page.  "Looks  to  me  like 
old  Duke's  getting  ready  to  die.  Gale  says  he's 

322 


A  Surprising  Slip 

going  to  draw  his  will  to-night,  and  don't  want 
nobody  around — got  old  Judge  Druel  in  there." 

De  Spain  pricked  up  his  ears.  "What's  that, 
Druel?"  he  demanded.  Bull  repeated  his  decla 
ration.  Lefever  broke  into  violent  language  at 
the  Sleepy  Cat  jurist's  expense,  and  ended  by  de 
claring  that  no  will  should  be  drawn  in  the  Gap 
that  night  by  Duke  Morgan  or  anybody  else,  un 
less  he  and  Bull  were  made  legatees. 

Beyond  this  nothing  could  be  learned  from  Bull, 
who  was  persuaded  without  difficulty  by  Lefever 
to  abandon  the  idea  of  riding  to  Calabasas  through 
the  rain,  and  to  spend  the  night  with  him  in  the 
neighborhood,  wherever  fancy,  the  rain,  and  the 
wind — which  was  rising — should  dictate. 

While  the  two  were  talking  de  Spain  tried  to 
slip  away,  unobserved  by  Lefever,  on  his  errand. 
He  failed,  as  he  expected  to,  and  after  some  fa 
miliar  abuse,  rode  off  alone,  fortified  by  every 
possible  suggestion  at  the  hands  of  a  man  to 
whom  the  slightest  precaution  was  usually  a  joke. 

Mountains  never  look  blacker  than  when  one 
rides  into  them  conscious  of  the  presence  of  en 
emies  and  alert  for  signs  and  sounds.  But  cus 
tom  dulls  the  edge  of  apprehension.  De  Spain 
rode  slowly  up  the  main  road  without  expect 
ing  to  meet  any  one,  and  he  reached  the  rise 
where  the  trail  forked  to  Duke's  ranch  unchal- 

323 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

lenged.  Here  he  stopped  his  horse  and  looked 
down  toward  the  roof  that  sheltered  Nan.  Night 
had  fallen  everywhere,  and  the  increasing  rain 
obscured  even  the  outline  of  the  house.  But  a 
light  shone  through  one  uncurtained  window. 
He  waited  some  time  for  a  sound  of  life,  for  a 
door  to  open  or  close,  or  for  the  dog  to  bark — 
he  heard  nothing.  Slipping  out  of  the  wet  sad 
dle,  he  led  his  horse  in  the  darkness  under  the 
shelter  of  the  lone  pine-tree  and,  securing  him, 
walked  slowly  toward  the  house. 

The  light  came  from  a  window  in  the  living- 
room.  Up-stairs  and  toward  the  kitchen  every 
thing  was  dark.  De  Spain  walked  gingerly 
around  to  where  he  could  command  the  living- 
room  window.  He  could  see  within,  the  figures 
of  three  men  but,  owing  to  the  dim  light  and  the 
distance  at  which  he  stood,  he  could  identify  none 
of  them  with  certainty.  Mindful  of  the  admoni 
tions  he  had  been  loaded  with,  he  tramped  around 
the  house  in  narrowing  circles,  pausing  at  times 
to  look  and  listen.  In  like  manner  he  circled 
the  barn  and  stables,  until  he  had  made  sure 
there  was  no  ambush  and  that  he  was  alone 
outside.  He  then  went  among  the  horses  and, 
working  with  a  flash-light,  found  Nan's  pony,  a 
bridle  and,  after  an  ineffectual  search  for  a  saddle, 
led  the  bareback  horse  out  to  where  his  own 

324 


A  Surprising  Slip 

stood.  Walking  over  to  Nan's  window  he  sig 
nalled  and  called  to  her.  Getting  no  answer,  he 
tossed  a  bit  of  gravel  up  against  her  window. 
His  signal  met  with  no  response  and,  caching  his 
rifle  under  the  kitchen  porch,  he  stepped  around 
to  the  front  of  the  house,  where,  screened  by  a 
bit  of  shrubbery,  he  could  peer  at  close  range 
into  the  living-room. 

Standing  before  the  fire  burning  in  the  open 
hearth,  and  with  his  back  to  it,  he  now  saw  Gale 
Morgan.  Sitting  bolt  upright  beside  the  table, 
square-jawed  and  obdurate,  his  stubby  brier  pipe 
supported  by  his  hand  and  gripped  in  his  great 
teeth,  Duke  Morgan  looked  uncompromisingly 
past  his  belligerent  nephew  into  the  fire.  A  third 
and  elderly  man,  heavy,  red-faced,  and  almost 
toothless  as  he  spoke,  sat  to  the  right  of  the  table 
in  a  rocking-chair,  and  looked  at  Duke;  this  was 
the  old  lawyer  and  justice  from  Sleepy  Cat,  the 
sheriff's  brother — Judge  Druel. 

Nan  was  not  to  be  seen.  Gale,  big  and  aggres 
sive,  was  doing  most  of  the  talking,  and  energeti 
cally,  as  was  his  habit.  Duke  listened  thought 
fully,  but  seemingly  with  coldness.  Druel  looked 
from  Gale  to  Duke,  and  appeared  occasionally  to 
put  in  a  word  to  carry  the  argument  along. 

De  Spain  suspected  nothing  of  what  they  were 
talking  about,  but  he  was  uneasy  concerning  Nan, 

325 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

and  was  not  to  be  balked,  by  any  combination, 
of  his  purpose  of  finding  her.  To  secure  informa 
tion  concerning  her  was  not  possible,  unless  he 
should  enter  the  house,  and  this,  with  scant  hesi 
tation,  he  decided  to  do. 

He  wore  a  snug-fitting  leathern  coat.  He  un 
buttoned  this  and  threw  it  open  as  he  stepped 
noiselessly  up  to  the  door.  Laying  his  hand  on 
the  knob,  he  paused,  then,  finding  the  door  un 
locked,  he  pushed  it  slowly  open. 

The  wind,  rushing  in,  upset  his  calculations  and 
blew  open  the  door  leading  from  the  hall  into  the 
living-room.  A  stream  of  light  in  turn  shot 
through  the  open  door,  across  the  hall.  Instantly 
de  Spain  stepped  inside  and  directly  behind  the 
front  door — which  he  now  realized  he  dare  not 
close — and  stood  expectant  in  the  darkness.  Gale 
Morgan,  with  an  impatient  exclamation,  strode 
from  the  fireplace  to  close  the  front  door. 

As  he  walked  into  the  hall  and  slammed  the 
front  door  shut,  he  could  have  touched  with  his 
hand  the  man  standing  in  the  shadow  behind  it. 
De  Spain,  not  hoping  to  escape,  stood  with  folded 
arms,  but  under  the  elbow  of  his  left  arm  was 
hidden  the  long  muzzle  of  his  revolver.  Holding 
his  breath,  he  waited.  Gale's  mind  was  apparently 
filled  with  other  things.  He  did  not  suspect  the 
presence  of  an  intruder,  and  he  walked  back  into 

326 


A  Surprising  Slip 

the  living-room,  partly  closing  the  second  door. 
De  Spain,  following  almost  on  his  heels,  stepped 
past  this  door,  past  the  hall  stairs  opposite  it, 
and  through  a  curtained  opening  at  the  end  of 
the  hall  into  the  dining-room.  Barely  ten  feet 
from  him,  this  room  opened  through  an  arch  into 
the  living-room,  and  where  he  stood  he  could  hear 
all  that  was  said. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  Duke  gruffly. 

"Nobody,"  said  Gale.     "Go  on,  Druel." 

"That  door  never  opened  itself,"  persisted 
Duke. 

"The  wind  blew  it  open,"  said  Gale  impatiently. 

"I  tell  y'  it  didn't,"  responded  Duke  sternly; 
"somebody  came  in  there,  or  went  out.  Maybe 
she's  slipped  y'." 

"Go  up-stairs  and  see,"  bellowed  Gale  at  his 
uncle. 

Duke  walked  slowly  out  into  the  hall  and,  with 
some  difficulty,  owing  to  his  injured  back,  up  the 
stairs.  A  curtain  hung  beside  the  arch  where  de 
Spain  stood,  and  this  he  now  drew  around  him. 
Gale  walked  into  the  hall  again,  searched  it,  and 
waited  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  De  Spain  could 
hear  Duke's  rough  voice  up-stairs,  but  could 
neither  distinguish  his  words  nor  hear  any  re 
sponse  to  them.  Within  a  moment  the  elder  man 
tramped  heavily  down  again,  saying  only,  "She's 

327 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

there,"  and,  followed  by  Gale,  returned  to  the 
living-room. 

"Now  go  on,  Druel,"  exclaimed  Gale,  sitting 
down  impatiently,  "and  talk  quick." 

Druel  talked  softly  and  through  his  nose:  "I 
was  only  going  to  say  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to 
have  two  witnesses." 

"Nita,"  suggested  Gale. 

Duke  was  profane.  "You  couldn't  keep  the 
girl  in  the  room  if  she  had  Nita  to  help  her.  And 
I  want  it  understood,  Gale,  between  you  and  me, 
fair  and  square,  that  Nan's  goin'  to  live  right 
here  with  me  after  this  marriage  till  I'm  satisfied 
she's  willing  to  go  to  you — otherwise  it  can't  take 
place,  now  nor  never." 

De  Spain  opened  his  ears.  Gale  felt  the  hard, 
cold  tone  of  his  crusty  relative,  and  answered  with 
like  harshness:  "What  do  you  keep  harping  on 
that  for  ?  You've  got  my  word.  All  I  want  of 
you  is  to  keep  yours — understand  ?" 

"Come,  come,"  interposed  Druel.  "There's  no 
need  of  hard  words.  But  we  need  two  witnesses. 
Who's  going  to  be  the  other  witness?" 

Before  any  one  could  answer  de  Spain  stepped 
out  into  the  open  archway  before  the  three  men. 
"I'll  act  as  the  second  witness,"  he  said. 

With  a  common  roar  the  Morgans  bounded  to 
their  feet.  They  were  not  unused  to  sudden 

328 


A  Surprising  Slip 

onslaughts,  nor  was  either  of  them  a  man  to 
shrink  from  a  fight  at  short  quarters,  if  it  came  to 
that,  but  blank  astonishment  overwhelmed  both. 
De  Spain,  standing  slightly  sidewise,  his  coat 
lapels  flapped  wide  open,  his  arms  akimbo,  and 
his  hands  on  his  hips,  faced  the  three  in  an  atti 
tude  of  readiness  only.  He  had  reckoned  on  the 
instant  of  indecision  which  at  times,  when  coupled 
with  apprehension,  paralyzes  the  will  of  two  men 
acting  together.  Under  the  circumstances  either 
of  the  Morgans  alone  would  have  whipped  a  gun 
on  de  Spain  at  sight.  Together,  and  knowing  that 
to  do  so  meant  death  to  the  one  that  took  the 
first  shot  from  the  archway,  each  waited  for  the 
other;  that  fraction  of  a  second  unsettled  their 
purpose.  Instead  of  bullets,  each  launched  curses 
at  the  intruder,  and  every  second  that  passed  led 
away  from  a  fight. 

De  Spain  took  their  oaths,  demands,  and  abuse 
without  batting  an  eye.  "I'm  here  for  the  second 
witness,"  was  all  he  repeated,  covering  both  men 
with  short  glances.  Druel,  his  face  muddily 
white  as  the  whiskey  bloat  deserted  it,  shrunk  in 
side  his  shabby  clothes.  He  seemed,  every  time 
de  Spain  darted  a  look  at  him,  to  grow  visibly 
smaller,  until  his  loose  bulk  had  shrivelled  inside 
an  armchair  hardly  large  enough  normally  to 
contain  it. 

329 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

De  Spain  with  each  epithet  hurled  at  him 
took  a  dreaded  forward  step  toward  Gale,  and 
Druel,  in  the  line  of  fire,  brought  his  knees  up 
and  his  head  down  till  he  curled  like  a  porcupine. 
Gale,  game  as  he  undoubtedly  was,  cornered,  felt 
perhaps  recollections  of  Calabasas  and  close  quar 
ters  with  the  brown  eyes  and  the  burning  face. 
What  they  might  mean  in  this  little  room,  which 
de  Spain  was  crossing  step  by  step,  was  food  for 
thought.  Nor  did  de  Spain  break  his  obstinate 
silence  until  their  burst  of  rage  had  blown. 
"You've  arranged  your  marriage,"  he  said  at 
length.  "Now  pull  it." 

"My  cousin's  ready  to  marry  me,  and  she's 
goin'  to  do  it  to-night,"  cried  Gale  violently. 

Duke,  towering  with  rage,  looked  at  de  Spain 
and  pointed  to  the  hall  door.  "You  hear  that! 
Get  out  of  my  house!"  he  cried,  launching  a 
vicious  epithet  with  the  words. 

"This  isn't  your  house,"  retorted  de  Spain 
angrily.  "This  house  is  Nan's,  not  yours.  When 
she  orders  me  out  I'll  go.  Bring  her  down,"  he 
thundered,  raising  his  voice  to  shut  off  Duke,  who 
had  redoubled  his  abuse.  "Bring  her  into  this 
room,"  he  repeated.  "We'll  see  whether  she 
wants  to  get  married.  If  she  does,  I'll  marry  her. 
If  she  doesn't,  and  you've  been  putting  this  up 
to  force  her  into  marrying,  so  help  me  God,  you'll 

330 


A  Surprising  Slip 

be  carried  out  of  this  room  to-night,  or  I  will." 
He  whirled  on  her  uncle  with  an  accusing  ringer. 
"You  used  to  be  a  man,  Duke.  I've  taken  from 
you  here  to-night  what  I  would  take  from  no  man 
on  earth  but  for  the  sake  of  Nan  Morgan.  She 
asked  me  never  to  touch  you.  But  if  you've  gone 
into  this  thing  to  trap  your  own  flesh  and  blood, 
your  dead  brother's  girl,  living  under  your  own 
protection,  you  don't  deserve  mercy,  and  to-night 
you  shall  have  what's  coming  to  you.  I've  fought 
you  both  fair,  too  fair.  Now — before  I  leave — 
it's  my  girl  or  both  of  you." 

He  was  standing  near  Druel.  Without  taking 
his  eyes  off  the  other  men,  he  caught  Druel  with 
his  left  hand  by  the  coat  collar,  and  threw  him 
half-way  across  the  room.  "Get  up-stairs,  you 
old  carrion,  and  tell  Nan  Morgan,  Henry  de  Spain 
is  here  to  talk  to  her." 

Druel,  frightened  to  death,  scrambled  into  the 
hall.  He  turned  on  de  Spain.  "I'm  an  officer 
of  the  law.  I  arrest  you  for  trespass  and  assault," 
he  shouted,  shaking  with  fear. 

"Arrest  me?"  echoed  de  Spain  contemptuously. 
"You  scoundrel,  if  you  don't  climb  those  stairs 
I'll  send  you  to  the  penitentiary  the  day  I  get 
back  to  town.  Up-stairs  with  your  message!" 

"It  isn't  necessary,"  said  a  low  voice  in  the 
hall,  and  with  the  words  Nan  appeared  in  the 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

open  doorway.  Her  face  was  white,  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  haste  or  panic  in  it;  de  Spain  choked 
back  a  breath;  to  him  she  never  had  looked  in 
her  silence  so  awe-inspiring. 

He  addressed  her,  holding  his  left  hand  out 
with  his  plea.  "Nan,"  he  said,  controlling  his 
voice,  "these  men  were  getting  ready  to  marry 
you  to  Gale  Morgan.  No  matter  how  you  feel 
toward  me  now,  you  know  me  well  enough  to 
know  that  all  I  want  is  the  truth:  Was  this  with 
your  consent  ?" 

She  stepped  into  the  line  of  fire  between  her 
cousin  and  de  Spain  as  she  answered.  "No. 
You  know  I  shall  never  marry  any  man  but  you. 
This  vile  bully,"  she  turned  a  little  to  look  at  her 
angry  cousin,  "has  influenced  Uncle  Duke — who 
never  before  tried  to  persecute  or  betray  me — 
into  joining  him  in  this  thing.  They  never  could 
have  dragged  me  into  it  alive.  And  they've  kept 
me  locked  for  three  days  in  a  room  up-stairs, 
hoping  to  break  me  down." 

"Stand  back,  Nan." 

If  de  Spain's  words  of  warning  struck  her  with 
terror  of  a  situation  she  could  not  control,  she  did 
not  reveal  it.  "No,"  she  said  resolutely.  "If 
anybody  here  is  to  be  shot,  I'll  be  first.  Uncle 
Duke,  you  have  always  protected  me  from  Gale 
Morgan;  now  you  join  hands  with  him.  You 

332 


A  Surprising  Slip 

drive  me  from  this  roof  because  I  don't  know  how 
I  can  protect  myself  under  it." 

Gale  looked  steadily  at  her.  "You  promised 
to  marry  me,"  he  muttered  truculently.  "I'll 
find  a  way  to  make  you  keep  your  word." 

A  loud  knocking  interrupted  him,  and,  without 
waiting  to  be  admitted,  Pardaloe,  the  cowboy, 
opened  the  front  door  and  stalked  boldly  in  from 
the  hall. 

If  the  situation  in  the  room  surprised  him  he 
gave  no  evidence  of  it.  And  as  he  walked  in 
Nan  disappeared.  Pardaloe  was  drenched  with 
rain,  and,  taking  off  his  hat  as  he  crossed  the  room 
to  the  fire,  he  shook  it  hard  into  the  blazing  wood. 

"What  do  you  want,  Pardaloe  ?"  snapped  Duke. 

Pardaloe  shook  his  hat  once  more  and  turned 
a  few  steps  so  that  he  stood  between  the  uncur 
tained  window  and  the  light.  "The  creek's  up," 
he  said  to  Duke  in  his  peculiarly  slow,  steady 
tone.  "Some  of  Satt's  boys  are  trying  to  get 
the  cattle  out  of  the  lower  corral."  He  fingered 
his  hat,  looked  first  at  Duke,  then  at  Gale,  then 
at  de  Spain.  "Guess  they'll  need  a  little  help, 
so  I  asked  Sassoon  to  come  over —  Pardaloe 
jerked  his  head  indicatively  toward  the  front. 
"He's  outside  with  some  of  the  boys  now." 

"Tell  Sassoon  to  come  in  here!"  thundered 
Gale. 

333 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

De  Spam's  left  arm  shot  out.  "Hold  on,  Par- 
daloe;  pull  down  that  curtain  behind  you!" 

"  Don't  touch  that  curtain,  Pardaloe!"  shouted 
Gale  Morgan. 

"Pardaloe,"  said  de  Spain,  his  left  arm  point 
ing  menacingly  and  walking  instantly  toward  him, 
"pull  that  curtain  or  pull  your  gun,  quick."  At 
that  moment  Nan,  in  hat  and  coat,  reappeared  in 
the  archway  behind  de  Spain.  Pardaloe  jerked 
down  the  curtain  and  started  for  the  door.  De 
Spain  had  backed  up  again.  "Stop,  Pardaloe," 
he  called.  "My  men  are  outside  that  door. 
Stand  where  you  are,"  he  ordered,  still  enforcing 
his  commands  with  his  right  hand  covering  the 
holster  at  his  hip.  "I  leave  this  room  first.  Nan, 
are  you  ready  ?"  he  asked,  without  looking  at  her. 

"Yes." 

Her  uncle's  face  whitened.  "Don't  leave  this 
house  to-night,  Nan,"  he  said  menacingly. 

"You've  forced  me  to,  Uncle  Duke." 

"Don't  leave  this  house  to-night." 

"I  can't  protect  myself  in  it." 

"Don't  leave  this  house — most  of  all,  with  that 
man !"  He  pointed  at  de  Spain  with  a  frenzy  of 
hatred.  Without  answering,  the  two  were  re 
treating  into  the  semidarkness  of  the  dining-room. 
"Nan,"  came  her  uncle's  voice,  hoarse  with  feel 
ing,  "you're  saying  good-by  to  me  forever." 

334 


A  Surprising  Slip 

"No,  uncle,"  she  cried.  "I  am  only  doing 
what  I  have  to  do." 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to  drive  you  from  this 
roof,  girl." 

A  rush  of  wind  from  an  opening  door  was  the 
only  answer  from  the  dark  dining-room.  The 
two  Morgans  started  forward  together.  The  sud 
den  gust  sucked  the  flame  of  the  living-room  lamp 
up  into  the  chimney  and  after  a  brief,  sharp 
struggle  extinguished  it.  In  the  confusion  it  was 
a  moment  before  a  match  could  be  found.  When 
the  lamp  was  relighted  the  Morgans  ran  into  the 
dining-room.  The  wind  and  rain  poured  in 
through  the  open  north  door.  But  the  room  was 
empty. 

Duke  turned  on  his  nephew  with  a  choking 
curse.  "This,"  he  cried,  beside  himself  with 
fury,  "is  your  work!" 


335 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

FLIGHT 

TT    was    a    forbidding    night.      Moisture-laden 

clouds,  drifting  over  the  Superstition  Range, 
emptied  their  fulness  against  the  face  of  the 
mountains  in  a  downpour  and  buried  the  Gap  in 
impenetrable  darkness.  De  Spain,  catching  Nan's 
arm,  spoke  hurriedly,  and  they  hastened  outside 
toward  the  kitchen.  "We  must  get  away  quick," 
he  said  as  she  buttoned  her  coat.  And,  knowing 
how  she  suffered  in  what  she  was  doing,  he  drew 
her  into  the  shelter  of  the  porch  and  caught  her 
close  to  him.  "It  had  to  come,  Nan.  Don't 
shed  a  tear.  I'll  take  you  straight  to  Mrs.  Jef 
fries.  When  you  are  ready,  you'll  marry  me;  we'll 
make  our  peace  with  your  Uncle  Duke  together. 
Great  God  !  What  a  night !  This  way,  dearie." 

"No,  to  the  stable,  Henry!  Where's  your 
horse?" 

"Under  the  pine,  and  yours,  too.  I  found  the 
pony,  but  I  couldn't  find  your  saddle,  Nan." 

"I  know  where  it's  hidden.  Let's  get  the 
horses." 

"Just  a  minute.     I  stuck  my  rifle  under  this 

336 


Flight 

porch."  He  stooped  and  felt  below  the  stringer. 
Rising  in  a  moment  with  the  weapon  on  his  arm, 
the  two  hurried  around  the  end  of  the  house 
toward  the  pine-tree.  They  had  almost  reached 
this  when  a  murmur  unlike  the  sounds  of  the 
storm  made  de  Spain  halt  his  companion. 

"What  is  it?"  she  whispered.  He  listened  in 
tently.  While  they  stood  still  the  front  door  of 
the  house  was  opened  hurriedly.  A  man  ran  out 
along  the  porch  toward  the  stable.  Neither  Nan 
nor  de  Spain  could  make  out  who  it  was,  but  de 
Spain  heard  again  the  suspicious  sound  that  had 
checked  him.  Without  speaking,  he  took  Nan 
and  retreated  to  the  corner  of  the  house.  "There 
is  somebody  in  that  pine,"  he  whispered,  "waiting 
for  me  to  come  after  the  horses.  Sassoon  may 
have  found  them.  I'll  try  it  out,  anyway,  before 
I  take  a  chance.  Stand  back  here,  Nan." 

He  put  her  behind  the  corner  of  the  house, 
threw  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and  fired  as  nearly 
as  he  could  in  the  darkness  toward  and  just 
above  the  pine.  Without  an  instant's  hesitation 
a  pistol-shot  answered  from  the  direction  in  which 
he  had  fired,  and  in  another  moment  a  small  fusil 
lade  followed.  "By  the  Almighty,"  muttered 
de  Spain,  "we  must  have  our  horses,  Nan.  Stay 
right  here.  I'll  try  driving  those  fellows  off  their 
perch." 

337 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

She  caught  his  arm.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"Run  in  on  them  from  cover,  wherever  I  can 
find  it,  Nan,  and  push  them  back.  We've  got  to 
have  those  horses." 

"Henry,  we  can  get  others  from  the  stable." 
"There  may  be  more  men  waiting  there  for  us." 
"If  we  could  only  get  away  without  a  fight !" 
"This   is    Sassoon    and   his   gang,    Nan.     You 
heard    Pardaloe.     These    are    not    your    people. 
I've  got  to  drive-  'em,  or  we're  gone,  Nan." 
"Then  I  go  with  you." 
"No." 

"Yes  !"     Her  tone  was  unmistakable. 
"Nan,  you  can't  do  it,"  whispered  de  Spain 
energetically.     "A  chance  bullet- 
She  spoke  with   decision:    "I  go  with  you.     I 
can  use  a  rifle.     Better  both  of  us  be  killed  than 
one.     Help  me  up  on  this  roof.     I've  climbed  it  a 
hundred  times.     My  rifle  is  in  my  room.     Quick, 
Henry." 

Overruling  his  continued  objections,  she  lifted 
her  foot  to  his  hand,  caught  hold  of  the  corner- 
post,  and  springing  upward  got  her  hands  on  the 
low  end  of  the  roof  boards.  With  the  agility  of 
a  cat,  she  put  her  second  foot  on  de  Spain's  shoul 
der,  gained  the  sloping  roof,  and  scrambled  on  her 
hands  and  knees  up  toward  the  window  of  her 

338 


Flight 

room.  The  heavy  rain  and  the  slippery  boards 
made  progress  uncertain,  but  with  scarcely  any 
delay,  she  reached  her  window  and  pushed  open 
the  casement  sash.  A  far-off  peal  of  thunder 
echoed  down  from  the  mountains.  Luckily,  no 
flash  had  preceded  it,  and  Nan,  rifle  in  hand,  slid 
safely  down  to  the  end  of  the  lean-to,  where  de 
Spain,  waiting,  caught  one  foot  on  his  shoulder, 
and  helped  her  to  the  ground.  He  tried  again 
to  make  her  stay  behind  the  house.  Finding  his 
efforts  vain,  he  directed  her  how  to  make  a  zigzag 
advance,  how  to  utilize  for  cover  every  rock  and 
tree  she  could  find  in  the  line  toward  the  pine, 
and,  above  all,  to  throw  herself  flat  and  sidewise 
after  every  shot--- and  not  to  fire  often. 

In  this  way,  amid  the  falling  of  rain  and  the  un 
charted  dangers  of  the  darkness,  they  advanced 
on  the  pine-tree.  Surprisingly  little  effort  seemed 
necessary  to  drive  off  whoever  held  it.  De  Spain 
made  his  way  slowly  but  safely  to  the  disputed 
point  and  then  understood — the  horses  were  gone. 

He  had  hardly  rejoined  Nan,  who  waited  at  a 
safe  distance,  and  told  her  the  bad  news,  when  a 
fresh  discharge  of  shots  came  from  two  directions 
— seemingly  from  the  house  and  the  stable.  A 
moment  later  they  heard  sharp  firing  far  down  the 
Gap.  This  was  their  sole  avenue  of  escape.  It 
was  bad  enough,  under  the  circumstances,  to  nego- 

339 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

tiate  the  trail  on  horseback — but  to  expose  Nan, 
who  had  but  just  put  herself  under  his  protection, 
to  death  from  a  chance  bullet  while  stumbling 
along  on  foot,  surrounded  by  enemies — who  could 
follow  the  flash  of  their  own  shots  if  they  were 
forced  to  use  their  rifles,  and  close  in  on  them  at 
will — was  an  undertaking  not  to  be  faced. 

They  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  a  large  rock 
familiar  to  Nan  even  in  the  dark.  While  de  Spain 
was  debating  in  his  mind  how  to  meet  the  emer 
gency,  she  stood  at  his  side,  his  equal,  he  knew,  in 
courage,  daring,  and  resource,  and  answered  his 
rapid  questions  as  to  possible  gateways  of  escape. 
The  rain,  which  had  been  abating,  now  ceased, 
but  from  every  fissure  in  the  mountains  came  the 
roar  of  rushing  water,  and  little  openings  of  rock 
and  waterway  that  might  have  offered  a  chance 
when  dry  were  now  out  of  the  question.  In  fact, 
it  was  Nan's  belief  that  before  morning  water 
would  be  running  over  the  main  trail  itself. 

"Yet,"  said  de  Spain  finally,  "before  morning 
we  must  be  a  long  way  from  this  particular  spot, 
Nan.  Lefever  is  down  there — I  haven't  the 
slightest  doubt  of  that.  Sassoon  has  posted  men 
at  the  neck  of  the  Gap — that's  the  first  thing  he 
would  do.  And  if  John  heard  my  rifle  when  I 
first  shot,  he  would  be  for  breaking  in  here,  and 
his  men,  if  they've  come  up,  would  bump  into 

340 


Flight 

Sassoon's.  It  would  be  insane  for  us  to  try  to 
get  out  over  the  trail  with  Sassoon  holding  it 
against  Lefever — we  might  easily  be  hit  by  our 
friends  instead  of  our  enemies.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Nan,  suppose  I  scout  down  that  way  alone  and 
see  what  I  can  find  out  ?" 

He  put  the  proposal  very  lightly,  realizing  al 
most  as  soon  as  he  made  it  what  her  answer  would 
be.  "Better  we  go  together,"  she  answered  in 
the  steady  tone  he  loved  to  hear.  "If  you  were 
killed,  what  would  become  of  me  ?  I  should 
rather  be  shot  than  fall  into  his  hands  after  this 
—if  there  was  ever  a  chance  for  it  before,  there'd 
be  no  mercy  now.  Let's  go  together." 

He  would  not  consent,  and  she  knew  he  was 
right.  But  what  was  right  for  one  was  right,  she 
told  him,  for  both,  and  what  was  wrong  for  one 
was  wrong  for  both.  "Then,  I'll  tell  you,"  he 
said  suddenly,  as  when  after  long  uncertainty  and 
anxious  doubt  one  chooses  an  alternative  and 
hastens  to  follow  it.  "Retreat  is  the  thing  for 
us,  Nan.  Let's  make  for  Music  Mountain  and 
crawl  into  our  cave  till  morning.  Lefever  will  get 
in  here  some  time  to-morrow.  Then  we  can  con 
nect  with  him." 

They  discussed  the  move  a  little  further,  but 
there  seemed  no  escape  from  the  necessity  of  it, 
despite  the  hardship  involved  in  reaching  the 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

refuge;  and,  realizing  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost, 
they  set  out  on  the  long  journey.  Every  foot  of 
the  troublesome  way  offered  difficulties.  Water 
impeded  them  continually.  It  lay  in  shallow 
poojs  underfoot  and  slipped  in  running  sheets 
over  the  sloping  rocks  that  lay  in  their  obscure 
path.  Sometimes  de  Spain  led,  sometimes  Nan 
picked  their  trail.  But  for  her  perfect  familiarity 
with  every  foot  of  the  ground  they  could  not  have 
got  to  the  mountain  at  all. 

Even  before  they  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
foot  of  it  their  ears  warned  them  of  a  more  serious 
obstacle  ahead.  When  they  got  to  the  moun 
tain  trail  itself  they  heard  the  roar  of  the  stream 
that  made  the  waterfall  above  the  ledge  they 
were  trying  to  reach.  Climbing  hardly  a  dozen 
steps,  they  found  their  way  swept  by  a  mad  rush 
of  falling  water,  its  deafening  roar  punctured  by 
fragments  of  loosened  rock  which,  swept  down 
ward  from  ledge  to  ledge,  split  and  thundered  as 
they  dashed  themselves  against  the  mountain 
side.  On  a  protected  floor  the  two  stood  for  a 
moment,  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  cataract  that 
had  cut  them  off  their  refuge. 

"No  use,  Nan,"  said  de  Spain.  "There  isn't 
any  other  trail,  is  there  ?" 

She  told  him  there  was  no  other.  "And  this 
will  run  all  night,"  she  added.  "Sometimes  it 

342 


Flight 

runs  like  this  for  days.  I  ought  to  have  known 
there  would  be  a  flood  here.  But  it  all  depends 
on  which  side  of  the  mountain  the  heavy  rain 
falls.  Henry,"  she  said,  turning  to  him  and  as 
if  thinking  of  a  question  she  wanted  to  ask, 
"how  did  you  happen  to  come  to  me  just  to-night 
when  I  wanted  you  so?" 

"I  came  because  you  sent  for  me,"  he  answered, 
surprised. 

"But  I  didn't  send  for  you." 

He  stopped,  dumfounded.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Nan?"  he  demanded  uneasily.  "I  got 
your  message  on  the  telephone  to  come  at  once 
and  take  you  away." 

"Henry!  I  didn't  send  any  message — when 
did  you  get  one?" 

"Last  night,  in  my  office  in  Sleepy  Cat,  from 
a  man  that  refused  to  give  his  name." 

"I  never  sent  any  message  to  you,"  she  insisted 
in  growing  wonderment.  "I  have  been  locked  in 
a  room  for  three  days,  dearie.  The  Lord  knows 
I  wanted  to  send  you  word.  Who  ever  telephoned 
a  message  like  that  ?  Was  it  a  trap  to  get  you  in 
here?" 

He  told  her  the  story — of  the  strenuous  efforts 
he  had  made  to  discover  the  identity  of  the  mes 
senger — and  how  he  had  been  balked.  "No  mat 
ter,"  said  Nan,  at  last.  "It  couldn't  have  been 

343 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

a  trap.  It  must  have  been  a  friend,  surely,  not 
an  enemy." 

"Or,"  said  de  Spain,  bending  over  her  as  if  he 
were  afraid  she  might  escape,  and  putting  his 
face  close  to  hers,  "some  mildly  curious  person, 
some  idle  devil,  Nan,  that  wanted  to  see  what 
two  timid  men  would  look  like,  mixed  up  in  a 
real  fight  over  the  one  girl  in  the  mountains  both 
are  trying  to  marry  at  once." 

"Henry,"  every  time  she  repeated  his  name  de 
Spain  cared  less  for  what  should  happen  in  the 
rest  of  the  world,  "what  are  we  going  to  do  now  ? 
We  can't  stay  here  all  night — and  take  what  they 
will  greet  us  with  in  the  morning." 

He  answered  her  question  with  another:  "What 
about  trying  to  get  out  by  El  Capitan  ?" 

She  started  in  spite  of  herself.  "I  mean,"  he 
added,  "just  to  have  a  look  over  there,  Nan." 

"How  could  you  even  have  a  look  a  night  like 
this?"  she  asked,  overcome  at  the  thought  of 
the  dizzy  cliff.  "It  would  be  certain  death, 
Henry." 

"I  don't  mean  at  the  worst  to  try  to  cross  it 
till  we  get  a  glimpse  of  daylight.  But  it's  quite 
a  way  over  there.  I  remember  some  good  hid 
ing-places  along  that  trail.  We  may  find  one 
where  I  can  build  a  little  fire  and  dry  you  out. 
Fm  more  worried  over  you  being  wet  all  night 

344 


Flight 

than  the  rest  of  it.  The  question  is,  Can  we  find 
a  trail  up  to  where  we  want  to  go  ?" 

"I  know  two  or  three,"  she  answered,  "if  they 
are  only  not  flooded." 

The  storm  seemed  to  have  passed,  but  the  dark 
ness  was  intense,  and  from  above  the  northern 
Superstitions  came  low  mutterings  of  thunder. 
Compelled  to  strike  out  over  the  rocks  to  get  up 
to  any  of  the  trails  toward  El  Capitan,  Nan, 
helped  by  de  Spain  when  he  could  help,  led  the 
ascent  toward  the  first  ledge  they  could  hope  to 
follow  on  their  dangerous  course. 

The  point  at  which  the  two  climbed  almost 
five  hundred  feet  that  night  up  Music  Mountain 
is  still  pointed  out  in  the  Gap.  An  upturned 
rock  at  the  foot,  a  stunted  cedar  jutting  from  the 
ledge  at  the  point  they  finally  gained,  marked  the 
beginning  and  end  of  their  effort.  No  person, 
looking  at  that  confused  wall,  willingly  believes  it 
could  ever  have  been  scaled  in  the  dead  of  night. 
Torn,  bruised,  and  exhausted,  Nan,  handed  up 
by  her  lover,  threw  herself  at  last  prostrate  on 
the  ledge  at  the  real  beginning  of  their  trail,  and 
from  that  vantage-point  they  made  their  way 
along  the  eastern  side  of  Music  Mountain  for  two 
miles  before  they  stopped  again  to  rest. 

It  was  already  well  after  midnight.  A  favor 
ing. spot  was  seized  on  by  de  Spain  for  the  resting- 

345 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

place  he  wanted.  A  dry  recess  beneath  an  over 
hanging  wall  made  a  shelter  for  the  fire  that  he 
insisted  on  building  to  warm  Nan  in  her  soaked 
clothing.  He  found  cedar  roots  in  the  dark  and 
soon  had  a  blaze  going.  It  was  dangerous,  both 
realized,  to  start  a  fire,  but  they  concealed  the 
blaze  as  best  they  could  and  took  the  chance — a 
chance  that  more  nearly  than  any  that  had  gone 
before,  cost  them  their  lives.  But  what  still  lay 
ahead  of  the  two  justified  in  de  Spain's  mind  what 
he  was  doing.  He  acted  deliberately  in  risking 
the  exposure  of  their  position  to  unfriendly  eyes 
far  distant. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

EL    CAPITAN 

'  I AHE  mutterings  above  the  mountains  now 
grew  rapidly  louder  and  while  the  two  hov 
ered  over  the  fire,  a  thunder-squall,  rolling  wildly 
down  the  eastern  slope,  burst  over  the  Gap.  Its 
sudden  fury  put  aside  for  a  time  all  question  of 
moving,  and  Nan's  face  took  on  a  grave  expres 
sion  as  she  looked  in  the  firelight  at  her  com 
panion,  thinking  of  how  far  such  a  storm  might 
imperil  their  situation,  how  far  cut  off  their  al 
ready  narrow  chance  of  escape. 

De  Spain — reclining  close  beside  her,  looking 
into  the  depths  of  her  eyes  as  the  flickering  blaze 
revealed  them,  drying  himself  in  their  warmth 
and  light,  eating  and  drinking  of  their  presence 
on  the  mountainside  alone  with  him,  and  pledged 
to  him,  his  protection,  and  his  fortunes  against 
the  world — apparently  thought  of  nothing  be 
yond  the  satisfaction  of  the  moment.  The  wind 
drove  the  storm  against  the  west  side  of  the  huge 
granite  peak  under  which  they  were  sheltered  and 
gave  them  no  present  trouble  in  their  slender 
recess.  But  Nan  knew  even  better  than  her  com- 

347 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

panion  the  fickle  fury  of  a  range  storm,  and  un 
derstood  uncomfortably  well  how  a  sudden  shift 
might,  at  any  moment,  lay  their  entire  path  open 
to  its  fierceness.  She  warned  de  Spain  they  must 
be  moving,  and,  freshened  by  the  brief  rest,  they 
set  out  toward  El  Capitan. 

Their  trail  lay  along  granite  levels  of  compara 
tively  good  going  and,  fleeing  from  the  squall, 
they  had  covered  more  than  half  the  distance 
that  separated  them  from  the  cliff,  when  a  second 
thunder-storm,  seeming  to  rush  in  from  the  desert, 
burst  above  their  heads.  Drenched  with  rain, 
they  were  forced  to  draw  back  under  a  project 
ing  rock.  In  another  moment  the  two  storms, 
meeting  in  the  Gap,  crashed  together.  Bolt  upon 
bolt  of  lightning  split  the  falling  sheets  of  water, 
and  thunder,  exploding  in  their  faces,  stunned 
and  deafened  them. 

Mountain  peaks,  played  on  by  the  wild  light, 
leaped  like  spectres  out  of  the  black,  and  granite 
crags,  searched  by  blazing  shafts,  printed  them 
selves  in  ghostly  flames  on  the  retina;  thunder, 
searching  unnumbered  gorges,  echoed  beneath  the 
sharper  crashes  in  one  long,  unending  roll,  and 
far  out  beyond  the  mountains  the  flooded  desert 
tossed  on  a  dancing  screen  into  the  glare,  rippled 
like  a  madcap  sea,  and  flashed  in  countless  sheets 
of  blinding  facets.  As  if  an  unseen  hand  had 


El  Capitan 

touched  a  thousand  granite  springs  above  the 
Gap,  every  slender  crevice  spouted  a  stream  that 
shot  foaming  out  from  the  mountainsides.  The 
sound  of  moving  waters  rose  in  a  dull,  vast  roar, 
broken  by  the  unseen  boom  of  distant  falls, 
launching  huge  masses  of  water  into  caverns  far 
below.  The  storm-laden  wind  tore  and  swirled 
among  the  crowded  peaks,  and  above  all  the 
angry  sky  moaned  and  quivered  in  the  rage  of 
the  elements. 

Nan  leaned  within  de  Spain's  arm.  "If  this 
keeps  up,"  he  said  after  some  time,  "our  best 
play  is  to  give  up  crossing  to-night.  We  might 
hide  somewhere  on  the  mountain  to-morrow,  and 
try  it  toward  evening." 

"Yes,  if  we  have  to,"  she  answered.  But  he 
perceived  her  reluctant  assent.  "What  I  am 
afraid  of,  Henry,  is,  if  they  were  to  find  us.  You 
know  what  I  mean." 

"Then  we  won't  hide,"  he  replied.  "The  min 
ute  we  get  the  chance  we  will  run  for  it.  This  is 
too  fierce  to  last  long." 

"Oh,  but  it's  November!"  Nan  reminded  him 
apprehensively.  "It's  winter;  that's  what  makes 
it  so  cold.  You  never  can  tell  in  November." 

"It  won't  last  all  night,  anyway,"  he  answered 
with  confidence. 

Despite  his  assurance,  however,  it  did  last  all 
349 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

night,  and  it  was  only  the  lulls  between  the  sharp 
squalls  that  enabled  them  to  cover  the  trail  be 
fore  daylight.  When  they  paused  before  El  Cap- 
itan  the  fury  of  the  night  seemed  largely  to  have 
exhausted  itself,  but  the  overcharged  air  hung 
above  the  mountains,  trembling  and  moaning  like 
a  bruised  and  stricken  thing.  Lightning,  playing 
across  the  inky  heavens,  blazed  in  constant  sheets 
from  end  to  end  of  the  horizon.  Its  quivering 
glare  turned  the  wild  night  into  a  kind  of  ghastly, 
uncertain  day.  Thunder,  hoarse  with  invective, 
and  hurled  mercilessly  back  and  forth  by  the  fitful 
wind,  drew  farther  and  farther  into  the  recess  of 
the  mountains,  only  to  launch  its  anger  against 
its  own  imprisoned  echoes.  Under  it  all  the  two 
refugees,  high  on  the  mountainside,  looked  down 
on  the  flooding  Gap. 

Their  flight  was  almost  ended.  Only  the  sheer 
cliff  ahead  blocked  their  descent  to  the  aspen 
grove.  De  Spain  himself  had  already  crossed  El 
Capitan  once,  and  he  had  done  it  at  night — but 
it  was  not,  he  was  compelled  to  remind  himself, 
on  a  night  like  this.  It  seemed  now  a  madman's 
venture  and,  without  letting  himself  appear  to  do 
so,  he  watched  Nan's  face  as  the  lightning  played 
over  it,  to  read  if  he  could,  unsuspected,  whether 
she  still  had  courage  for  the  undertaking.  She 
regarded  him  so  collectedly,  whether  answering 

350 


El  Capitan 

a  question  or  asking  one,  that  he  marvelled  at  her 
strength  and  purpose.  Hardly  a  moment  passed 
after  they  had  started  until  the  eastern  sky  light 
ened  before  the  retreating  storm,  and  with  the 
first  glimmer  of  daylight,  the  two  were  at  the 
beginning  of  the  narrow  foothold  which  lay  for 
half  a  mile  between  them  and  safety. 

Here  the  El  Capitan  trail  follows  the  face  of 
the  almost  vertical  wall  which,  rising  two  thou 
sand  feet  in  the  air,  fronts  the  gateway  of  Mor 
gan's  Gap. 

They  started  forward,  de  Spain  ahead.  There 
was  nothing  now  to  hurry  them  unduly,  and  every 
thing  to  invite  caution.  The  footholds  were  slip 
pery,  rivulets  still  crossed  the  uncertain  path, 
and  fragments  of  rock  that  had  washed  down  on 
the  trail,  made  almost  every  step  a  new  hazard. 
The  face  of  El  Capitan  presents,  midway,  a  sharp 
convex.  Just  where  it  is  thrown  forward  in  this 
keen  angle,  the  trail  runs  out  almost  to  a  knife- 
edge,  and  the  mountain  is  so  nearly  vertical  that 
it  appears  to  overhang  the  floor  of  the  valley. 

They  made  half  the  stretch  of  this  angle  with 
hardly  a  misstep,  but  the  advance  for  a  part  of 
the  way  was  a  climb,  and  de  Spain,  turning  once 
to  speak  to  Nan,  asked  her  for  her  rifle,  that  he 
might  carry  it  with  his  own.  What  their  story 
might  have  been  had  she  given  it  to  him,  none 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

can  tell.  But  Nan,  holding  back,  refused  to  let 
him  relieve  her.  The  dreaded  angle  which  had 
haunted  de  Spain  all  night  was  safely  turned  on 
hands  and  knees  and,  as  they  rounded  it  toward 
the  east,  clouds  scudding  over  the  open  desert 
broke  and  shot  the  light  of  dawn  against  the 
beetling  arete. 

De  Spain  turned  in  some  relief  to  point  to  the 
coming  day.  As  he  did  so  a  gust  of  wind,  sweep 
ing  against-  the  sheer  wall,  caught  him  off  his 
guard.  He  regained  his  balance,  but  a  stone, 
slipping  underfoot,  tipped  him  sidewise,  and  he 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  to  avoid  the  dizzy 
edge.  As  he  fell  forward  he  threw  up  his  hand 
to  save  his  hat,  and  in  doing  so  released  his  rifle, 
which  lay  under  his  hand  on  the  rock.  Before 
he  could  recover  it  the  rifle  slipped  from  reach. 
In  the  next  instant  he  heard  it  bouncing  from 
rock  to  rock,  five  hundred  feet  below. 

Greatly  annoyed  and  humiliated,  he  regained 
his  feet  and  spoke  with  a  laugh  to  reassure  Nan. 
Just  as  she  answered  not  to  worry,  a  little  singing 
scream  struck  their  ears;  something  splashed  sud 
denly  close  at  hand  against  the  rock  wall;  chips 
scattered  between  them.  From  below,  the  sound 
of  a  rifle  report  cracked  against  the  face  of  the 
cliff.  They  were  so  startled,  so  completely  amazed 
that  they  stood  motionless.  De  Spain  looked 

352 


El  Capitan 

down  and  over  the  uneven  floor  of  the  Gap.  The 
ranch-houses,  spread  like  toys  in  the  long  per 
spective,  lay  peacefully  revealed  in  the  gray  of 
the  morning.  Among  the  dark  pine-trees  he 
could  discern  Nan's  own  home.  Striving  with 
the  utmost  keenness  of  vision  to  detect  where 
the  shot  had  come  from,  de  Spain  could  discover 
no  sign  of  life  around  any  of  the  houses.  But  in 
another  moment  the  little  singing  scream  came 
again,  the  blow  of  the  heavy  slug  against  the 
splintering  rock  was  repeated,  the  distant  report 
of  the  rifle  followed. 

"Under  fire,"  muttered  de  Spain.  He  looked 
questioningly  at  Nan.  She  herself,  gazing  across 
the  dizzy  depths,  was  searching  for  the  danger- 
point.  A  third  shot  followed  at  a  seemingly 
regular  interval — the  deliberate  interval  needed 
by  a  painstaking  marksman  working  out  his 
range  and  taking  his  time  to  find  it.  De  Spain 
watched  Nan's  search  anxiously.  "We'd  better 
keep  moving,"  he  said.  "Come!  whoever  is 
shooting  can  follow  us  a  hundred  yards  either 
way."  In  front  of  de  Spain  a  fourth  bullet  struck 
the  rock.  "Nan,"  he  muttered,  "I've  got  you 
into  a  fix.  If  we  can't  stop  that  fellow  he  is 
liable  to  stop  us.  Can  you  see  anything?"  he 
asked,  waiting  for  her  to  come  up. 

"Henry  !"  She  was  looking  straight  down  into 
353 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

the  valley,  and  laid  her  hand  on  de  Spam's  shoul 
der.  "Is  there  anything  moving  on  the  ridge — 
over  there — see — just  east  of  Sassoon's  ranch- 
house?" 

De  Spain,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  point  Nan  indi 
cated,  drew  her  forward  to  a  dip  in  the  trail  which, 
to  one  stretched  flat,  afforded  a  slight  protection. 
He  made  her  lie  down,  and  just  beyond  her  refuge 
chose  a  point  where  the  path,  broadening  a  little 
and  rising  instead  of  sloping  toward  the  outer 
edge,  gave  him  a  chance  to  brace  himself  between 
two  rocks.  Flattened  there  like  a  target  in  mid 
air,  he  threw  his  hat  down  to  Nan  and,  resting  on 
one  knee,  waited  for  the  shot  that  should  tumble 
him  down  El  Capitan  or  betray  the  man  bent  on 
killing  him.  Squalls  of  wind,  sweeping  into  the 
Gap  and  sucked  upward  on  the  huge  expanse 
of  rock  below,  tossed  his  hair  and  ballooned  his 
coat  as  he  buttoned  it.  Another  bullet,  deliber 
ately  aimed,  chipped  the  rock  above  him.  Nan, 
agonizing  in  her  suspense,  cried  out  she  must  join 
him  and  go  with  him  if  he  went.  He  steadied 
her  apprehension  and  with  a  few  words  reminded 
her,  as  a  riflewoman,  what  a  gamble  every  shot 
at  a  height  such  as  they  occupied,  and  with  such 
a  wind,  must  be.  He  reminded  her,  too,  it  was 
much  easier  to  shoot  down  than  up,  but  all  the 
time  he  was  searching  for  the  flash  that  should 

354 


El  Capitan 

point  the  assassin.  A  bullet  struck  again  viciously 
close  between  them.  De  Spain  spoke  slowly: 
"Give  me  your  rifle."  Without  turning  his  head 
he  held  out  his  hand,  keeping  his  eyes  rigidly  on 
the  suspicious  spot  on  the  ridge.  "How  far  is  it 
to  that  road,  Nan?" 

She  looked  toward  the  faint  line  that  lay  in  the 
deep  shadows  below.  "Three  hundred  yards." 

"Nan,  if  it  wasn't  for  you,  I  couldn't  travel 
this  country  at  all,"  he  remarked  with  studious 
unconcern.  "Last  time  I  had  no  ammunition — 
this  time,  no  rifle — you  always  have  what's  needed. 
How  high  are  we,  Nan  ?" 

"Seven  hundred  feet." 

"Elevate  for  me,  Nan,  will  you  ?" 

"Remember  the  wind,"  she  faltered,  adjusting 
the  sight  as  he  had  asked. 

With  the  cautioning  words  she  passed  the  bur 
nished  weapon,  glittering  yet  with  the  rain-drops, 
into  his  hand.  A  flash  came  from  the  distant 
ridge.  Throwing  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  de 
Spain  covered  a  hardly  perceptible  black  object 
on  the  trail  midway  between  Sassoon's  ranch- 
house  and  a  little  bridge  which  he  well  remembered 
— he  had  crossed  it  the  night  he  dragged  Sassoon 
into  town.  It  seemed  a  long  time  that  he  pressed 
the  rifle  back  against  his  shoulder  and  held  his 
eye  along  the  barrel.  He  was  wondering  as  he 

355 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

covered  the  crouching  man  with  the  deadly  sight 
which  of  his  enemies  this  might  be.  He  even 
slipped  the  rifle  from  his  shoulder  and  looked  long 
and  silently  at  the  black  speck  before  he  drew  the 
weapon  back  again  into  place.  Then  he  fired  be 
fore  Nan  could  believe  he  had  lined  the  sights. 
Once,  twice,  three  times  his  hand  fell  and  rose 
sharply  on  the  lever,  with  every  mark  of  pre 
cision,  yet  so  rapidly  Nan  could  not  understand 
how  he  could  discover  what  his  shots  were  doing. 

The  fire  came  steadily  back,  and  deliberately, 
without  the  least  intimation  of  being  affected  by 
de  Spain's  return.  It  was  a  duel  shorn  of  every 
element  of  equality,  with  an  assassin  at  one  end 
of  the  range,  and  a  man  flattened  half-way  up  the 
clouds  against  El  Capitan  at  the  other,  each  de 
termined  to  kill  the  other  before  he  should  stir 
one  more  foot. 

Far  above,  an  eagle,  in  morning  flight,  soared 
majestically  out  from  a  jutting  crag  and  circled 
again  and  again  in  front  of  El  Capitan,  while  the 
air  sang  with  the  whining  dice  that  two  gamblers 
against  death  threw  across  the  gulf  between  them. 
Nan,  half  hidden  in  her  trough  of  rock,  watched 
the  great  bird  poise  and  wheel  above  the  deadly 
firing,  and  tried  to  close  her  eyes  to  the  figure  of 
de  Spain  above  her,  fighting  for  her  life  and  his 
own. 

356 


El  Capitan 

She  had  never  before  seen  a  man  shooting  to 
kill  another.  The  very  horror  of  watching  de 
Spain,  at  bay  among  the  rocks,  fascinated  her. 
Since  the  first  day  they  had  met  she  had  hardly 
seen  a  rifle  in  his  hands. 

Realizing  how  slightly  she  had  given  thought 
to  him  or  to  his  skill  at  that  time,  she  saw  now, 
spellbound,  how  a  challenge  to  death,  benumbing 
her  with  fear,  had  transformed  him  into  a  silent, 
pitiless  foeman,  fighting  with  a  lightning-like  de 
cision  that  charged  every  motion  with  a  fatality 
for  his  treacherous  enemy.  Her  rifle,  at  his  shoul 
der,  no  longer  a  mere  mechanism,  seemed  in  his 
hands  something  weightless,  sensible,  alive,  a 
deadly  part  of  his  arm  and  eye  and  brain.  There 
was  no  question,  no  thought  of  adjusting  or  han 
dling  or  haste  in  his  fire,  but  only  an  incredible 
swiftness  and  sureness  that  sent  across  the  thin- 
aired  chasm  a  stream  of  deadly  messengers  to 
seek  a  human  life.  She  could  only  hope  and  pray, 
without  even  forming  the  words,  that  none  of 
her  blood  were  behind  the  other  rifle,  for  she  felt 
that,  whoever  was,  could  never  escape. 

She  tried  not  to  look.  The  butt  of  the  heating 
rifle  lay  close  against  the  red-marked  cheek  she 
knew  so  well,  and  to  the  tips  of  the  fingers  every 
particle  of  the  man's  being  was  alive  with  strength 
and  resource.  Some  strange  fascination  drew  her 

357 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

senses  out  toward  him  as  he  knelt  and  threw  shot 
after  shot  at  the  distant  figure  hidden  on  the 
ridge.  She  wanted  to  climb  closer,  to  throw  her 
self  between  him  and  the  bullets  meant  for  him. 
She  held  out  her  arms  and  clasped  her  hands 
toward  him  in  an  act  of  devotion.  Then  while 
she  looked,  breathlessly,  he  took  his  eyes  an  in 
stant  from  the  sights.  "He's  running!"  ex 
claimed  de  Spain  as  the  rifle  butt  went  instantly 
back  to  his  cheek.  "Whoever  he  is,  God  help 
him  now !" 

The  words  were  more  fearful  to  Nan  than  an 
imprecation.  He  had  driven  his  enemy  from  the 
scant  cover  of  a  rut  in  the  trail,  and  the  man  was 
fleeing  for  new  cover  and  for  life.  The  speck  of 
black  in  the  field  of  intense  vision  was  moving 
rapidly  toward  the  ranch-house.  Bullet  after 
bullet  pitilessly  led  the  escaping  wretch.  Death 
dogged  every  eager  footfall.  Suddenly  de  Spain 
jerked  the  rifle  from  his  cheek,  threw  back  his 
head,  and  swept  his  left  hand  across  his  straining 
eyes.  Once  more  the  rifle  came  up  to  place  and, 
waiting  for  a  heartbeat,  to  press  the  trigger,  he 
paused  an  instant.  Flame  shot  again  in  the  gray 
morning  light  from  the  hot  muzzle.  The  rifle  fell 
away  from  the  shoulder.  The  black  speck  run 
ning  toward  the  ranch-house  stumbled,  as  if 
stricken  by  an  axe,  and  sprawled  headlong  on  the 

358 


El  Capitan 

trail.  Throwing  the  lever  again  like  lightning, 
de  Spain  held  the  rifle  back  to  his  cheek. 

He  did  not  fire.  Second  after  second  he  waited, 
Nan,  lying  very  still,  watching,  mute,  the  dull- 
red  mark  above  the  wet  rifle  butt.  No  one  had 
need  to  tell  her  what  had  happened.  Too  well 
she  read  the  story  in  de  Spain's  face  and  in  what 
she  saw,  as  he  knelt,  perfectly  still,  only  waiting 
to  be  sure  there  was  no  ruse.  She  watched  the 
rifle  come  slowly  down,  unfired,  and  saw  his  drawn 
face  slowly  relax.  Without  taking  his  eyes  off 
the  sprawling  speck,  he  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet. 
As  if  in  a  dream  she  saw  his  hand  stretched  toward 
her  and  heard,  as  he  looked  across  the  far  gulf, 
one  word:  "Come!" 

They  reached  the  end  of  the  trail.  De  Spain, 
rifle  in  hand,  looked  back.  The  sun,  bursting  in 
splendor  across  the  great  desert,  splashed  the  val 
ley  and  the  low-lying  ridge  with  ribboned  gold. 
Farther  up  the  Gap,  horsemen,  stirred  by  the 
firing,  were  riding  rapidly  down  toward  Sassoon's 
ranch-house.  But  the  black  thing  in  the  sun 
shine  lay  quite  still. 


359 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

LEFEVER    TO    THE    RESCUE 

T  EFEVER,  chafing  in  the  aspen  grove  under 
the  restraint  of  waiting  in  the  storm,  was 
ready  long  before  daylight  to  break  orders  and 
ride  in  to  find  de  Spain. 

With  the  first  peep  of  dawn,  and  with  his  men 
facing  him  in  their  saddles,  Lefever  made  a  short 
explanation. 

"I  don't  want  any  man  to  go  into  the  Gap 
with  me  this  morning  under  any  misunderstand 
ing  or  any  false  pretense,"  he  began  cheerfully. 
"Bob  Scott  and  Bull  will  stay  right  here.  If,  by 
any  chance,  de  Spain  makes  his  way  out  while  the 
rest  of  us  are  hunting  for  him,  you'll  be  here  to 
signal  us — three  shots,  Bob — or  to  ride  in  with 
de  Spain  to  help  carry  the  rest  of  us  out.  Now, 
it's  like  this,"  he  added,  addressing  the  others. 
"You,  all  of  you  know,  or  ought  to  know — every 
body  'twixt  here  and  the  railroad  knows — that  de 
Spain  and  Nan  Morgan  have  fastened  up  to  each 
other  for  the  long  ride  down  the  dusty  trail  to 
gether.  That,  I  take  it,  is  .their  business.  But 

360 


Lefever  to  the  Rescue 

her  uncle,  old  Duke,  and  Gale,  and  the  whole 
bunch,  I  hear,  turned  dead  sore  on  it,  and  have 
fixed  it  up  to  beat  them.  You  all  know  the  Mor 
gans.  They're  some  bunch — and  they  stick  for 
one  another  like  hornets,  and  all  hold  together  in 
a  fight.  So  I  don't  want  any  man  to  ride  in  there 
with  me  thinking  he's  going  to  a  wedding.  He 
isn't.  He  may  or  may  not  be  going  to  a  funeral, 
but  he's  not  going  to  a  shivaree." 

Frank  Elpaso  glanced  sourly  at  his  companions. 
"I  guess  everybody  here  is  wise,  John." 

"I  know  you  are,  Frank,"  retorted  Lefever 
testily;  "that's  all  right.  I'm  only  explaining. 
And  I  don't  want  you  to  get  sore  on  me  if  I  don't 
show  you  a  fight."  Frank  Elpaso  grunted.  "I 
am  under  orders."  John  waved  his  hand.  "And 
I  can't  do  anything " 

"But  talk,"  growled  Frank  Elpaso,  not  waving 
his  hand. 

Lefever  started  hotly  forward  in  his  saddle. 
"Now  look  here,  Frank."  He  pointed  his  finger 
at  the  objecting  ranger.  "I'm  here  for  business, 
not  for  pleasure.  Any  time  I'm  free  you  can  talk 
to  me- 

"Not  till  somebody  gags  you,  John,"  interposed 
Elpaso  moodily. 

"Look  here,  Elpaso,"  demanded  Lefever,  spur 
ring  his  horse  smartly  toward  the  Texan,  "are 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

you  looking  for  a  fight  with  me  right  here  and 
now?" 

"Yes,  here  and  now/'  declared  Elpaso  fiercely. 

"Or,  there  and  then,"  interposed  Kennedy, 
ironically,  "some  time,  somewhere,  or  no  time, 
nowhere.  Having  heard  all  of  which,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  times  from  you  two  fellows,  let  us  have 
peace.  You've  pulled  it  so  often,  over  at  Sleepy 
Cat,  they've  got  it  in  double-faced,  red-seal 
records.  Let's  get  started." 

"Right  you  are,  Farrell,"  assented  Lefever, 
"but " 

"Second  verse,  John.  You're  boss  here;  what 
are  we  going  to  do  ?  That's  all  we  want  to  know." 

"Henry's  orders  were  to  wait  here  till  ten 
o'clock  this  morning.  There's  been  firing  inside 
twice  since  twelve  o'clock  last  night.  He  told  me 
to  pay  no  attention  to  that.  But  if  the  whole 
place  hadn't  been  under  water  all  night,  I'd  have 
gone  in,  anyway.  This  last  time  it  was  two  high- 
powered  guns,  picking  at  long  range  and,  if  I'm 
any  judge  of  rifles  and  the  men  probably  behind 
them,  some  one  must  have  got  hurt.  It's  all  a 
guess — but  I'm  going  in  there,  peaceably  if  I  can, 
to  look  for  Henry  de  Spain;  if  we  are  fired  on — 
we've  got  to  fight  for  it.  And  if  there's  any 
talking  to  be  done— 

"You  can  do  it,"  grunted  Elpaso. 
362 


Lefever  to  the  Rescue 

"Thank  you,  Frank.  And  I  will  do  it.  I  need 
not  say  that  Kennedy  will  ride  ahead  with  me, 
Elpaso  and  Wickwire  with  Tommie  Meggeson." 

Leaving  Scott  in  the  trees,  the  little  party 
trotted  smartly  up  the  road,  picking  their  way 
through  the  pools  and  across  the  brawling  streams 
that  tore  over  the  trail  toward  Duke  Morgan's 
place.  The  condition  of  the  trail  broke  their 
formation  continually  and  Lefever,  in  the  cir 
cumstances,  was  not  sorry.  His  only  anxiety 
was  to  keep  Elpaso  from  riding  ahead  far  enough 
to  embroil  them  in  a  quarrel  before  he  himself 
should  come  up. 

Half-way  to  Duke's  house  they  found  a  small 
bridge  had  gone  out.  It  cut  off  the  direct  road, 
and,  at  Elpaso's  suggestion,  they  crossed  over  to 
follow  the  ridge  up  the  valley.  Swimming  their 
horses  through  the  backwater  that  covered  the 
depression  to  the  south,  they  gained  the  eleva 
tion  and  proceeded,  unmolested,  on  their  way. 
As  they  approached  Sassoon's  place,  Elpaso,  riding 
ahead,  drew  up  his  horse  and  sat  a  moment  study 
ing  the  trail  and  casting  an  occasional  glance  in 
the  direction  of  the  ranch-house,  which  lay  under 
the  brow  of  a  hill  ahead. 

When  Lefever  rode  up  to  him,  he  saw  the  story 
that  Elpaso  was  reading  in  the  roadway.  It  told 
of  a  man  shot  in  his  tracks  as  he  was  running 

363 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

toward  the  house — and,  in  the  judgment  of 
these  men,  fatally  shot — for,  while  his  companions 
spread  like  a  fan  in  front  of  him,  Lefever  got  off  his 
horse  and,  bending  intently  over  the  sudden  page 
torn  out  of  a  man's  life,  recast  the  scene  that  had 
taken  place,  where  he  stood,  half  an  hour  earlier. 
Some  little  time  Lefever  spent  patiently  decipher 
ing  the  story  printed  in  the  rutted  road,  and 
marked  by  a  wide  crimson  splash  in  the  middle  of 
it.  He  rose  from  his  study  at  length  and  fol 
lowed  back  the  trail  of  the  running  feet  that  had 
been  stricken  at  the  pool.  He  stopped  in  front 
of  a  fragment  of  rock  jutting  up  beside  the  road, 
studied  it  a  while  and,  looking  about,  picked  up 
a  number  of  empty  cartridge-shells,  examined 
them,  and  tossed  them  away.  Then  he  straight 
ened  up  and  looked  searchingly  across  the  Gap. 
Only  the  great,  silent  face  of  El  Capitan  con 
fronted  him.  It  told  no  tales. 

"If  this  was  Henry  de  Spain,"  muttered  Elpaso, 
when  Lefever  rejoined  his  companions,  "he  won't 
care  whether  you  join  him  now,  or  at  ten  o'clock, 


or  never." 


"That  is  not  Henry,"  asserted  Lefever  with 
his  usual  cheer.  "Not  within  forty  rows  of  apple- 
trees.  It's  not  Henry's  gun,  not  Henry's  heels, 
not  Henry's  hair,  and  thereby,  not  Henry's  head 
that  was  hit  that  time.  But  it  was  to  a  finish 

364 


Lefever  to  the  Rescue 

— and  blamed  if  at  first  it  didn't  scare  me.  I 
thought  it  might  be  Henry.  Hang  it,  get  down 
and  see  for  yourselves,  boys." 

Elpaso  answered  his  invitation  with  an  inquiry. 
"Who  was  this  fellow  fighting  with  ?" 

"That,  also,  is  a  question.  Certainly  not  with 
Henry  de  Spain,  because  the  other  fellow,  I  think, 
was  using  soft-nosed  bullets.  No  white  man  does 
that,  much  less  de  Spain." 

"Unless  he  used  another  rifle,"  suggested  Ken 
nedy. 

"Tell  me  how  they  could  get  his  own  rifle  away 
from  him  if  he  could  fire  a  gun  at  all.  I  don't 
put  Henry  quite  as  high  with  a  rifle  as  with  a 
revolver — if  you  want  to  split  hairs — mind,  I  say, 
if  you  want  to  split  hairs.  But  no  man  that's 
ever  seen  him  handle  either  would  want  to  try 
to  take  any  kind  of  a  gun  from  him.  Whoever  it 
was,"  Lefever  got  up  into  his  saddle  again,  "threw 
some  ounces  of  lead  into  that  piece  of  rock  back 
there,  though  I  don't  understand  how  any  one 
could  see  a  man  lying  behind  it. 

"Anyway,  whoever  was  hit  here  has  been  car 
ried  down  the  road.  We'll  try  Sassoon's  ranch- 
house  for  news,  if  they  don't  open  on  us  with 
rifles  before  we  get  there." 

In  the  sunshine  a  man  in  shirt  sleeves,  and  lean 
ing  against  the  jamb,  stood  in  the  open  doorway 

365 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

of  Sassoon's  shack,  watching  the  invaders  as  they 
rode  around  the  hill  and  gingerly  approached. 
Lefever  recognized  Satt  Morgan.  He  flung  a 
greeting  to  him  from  the  saddle. 

Satt  answered  in  kind,  but  he  eyed  the  horse 
men  with  reserve  when  they  drew  up,  and  he 
seemed  to  Lefever  altogether  less  responsive  than 
usual.  John  sparred  with  him  for  information, 
and  Satterlee  gave  back  words  without  any. 

"Can't  tell  us  anything  about  de  Spain,  eh  ?" 
echoed  Lefever  at  length.  "All  right,  Satt,  we'll 
find  somebody  that  can.  Is  there  a  bridge  over 
to  Duke's  on  this  trail  ?" 

Satt's  nose  wrinkled  into  his  normal  smile. 
"There  is  a  bridge —  The  report  of  three  shots 
fired  in  the  distance,  seemingly  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Gap,  interrupted  him.  He  paused  in  his 
utterance.  There  were  no  further  shots,  and  he 
resumed:  "There  is  a  bridge  that  way,  yes,  but 
it  was  washed  out  last  night.  They're  blockaded. 
Duke  and  Gale  are  over  there.  They're  pretty 
sore  on  your  man  de  Spain.  You'd  better  keep 
away  from  'em  this  morning  unless  you're  looking 
for  trouble." 

Lefever,  having  all  needed  information  from 
Scott's  signal,  raised  his  hand  quickly.  "Not  at 
all,"  he  exclaimed,  leaning  forward  to  emphasize 
his  words  and  adding  the  full  orbit  of  his  eye  to 

366 


Lefever  to  the  Rescue 

his  sincerity  of  manner.  "Not  at  all,  Satt.  This 
is  all  friendly,  all  friendly.  But,"  he  coughed 
slightly,  as  if  in  apology,  "if  Henry  shouldn't 
turn  up  all  right,  we'll — ahem — be  back." 

None  of  his  companions  needed  to  be  told  how 
to  get  prudently  away.  At  a  nod  from  Lefever 
Tommie  Meggeson,  Elpaso,  and  Wickwire  wheeled 
their  horses,  rode  rapidly  back  to  the  turn  near 
the  hill  and,  facing  about,  halted,  with  their  rifles 
across  their  arms.  Lefever  and  Kennedy  fol 
lowed  leisurely,  and  the  party  withdrew  leaving 
Satterlee,  unmoved,  in  the  sunny  doorway. 
Once  out  of  sight,  Lefever  led  the  way  rapidly 
down  the  Gap  to  the  rendezvous. 

Of  all  the  confused  impressions  that  crowded 
Nan's  memory  after  the  wild  night  on  Music 
Mountain,  the  most  vivid  was  that  of  a  notice 
ably  light-stepping  and  not  ungraceful  fat  man 
advancing,  hat  in  hand,  to  greet  her  as  she  stood 
with  de  Spain,  weary  and  bedraggled  in  the  aspen 
grove. 

A  smile  flamed  from  her  eyes  when,  turning  at 
once,  he  rebuked  de  Spain  with  dignity  for  not 
introducing  him  to  Nan,  and  while  de  Spain  made 
apologies  Lefever  introduced  himself. 

"And  is  this,"  murmured  Nan,  looking  at  him 
quizzically,  "really  Mr.  John  Lefever  whom  I've 
heard  so  many  stories  about  ?" 

367 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

She  was  conscious  of  his  pleasing  eyes  and  even 
teeth  as  he  smiled  again.  "If  they  have  come 
from  Mr.  de  Spain — I  warn  you/'  said  John, 
"take  them  with  all  reserve." 

"But  they  haven't  all  come  from  Mr.  de  Spain." 
"If  they  come  from  any  of  my  friends,  discredit 
them  in  advance.  You  could  believe  what  my 
enemies  say,"  he  ran  on;  then  added  ingenuously, 
"if  I  had  any  enemies !"  To  de  Spain  he  talked 
very  little.  It  seemed  to  take  but  few  words  to 
exchange  the  news.  Lefever  asked  gingerly  about 
the  fight.  He  made  no  mention  whatever  of  the 
crimson  pool  in  the  road  near  Sassoon's  hut. 


368 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

PUPPETS     OF    FATE 

/~pHE  house  in  the  Gap  that  had  sheltered  Nan 
for  many  years  seemed  never  so  empty  as 
the  night  she  left  it  with  de  Spain.  In  spite  of 
his  vacillation,  her  uncle  was  deeply  attached  to 
her.  She  made  his  home  for  him.  He  had  never 
quite  understood  it  before,  but  the  realization 
came  only  too  soon  after  he  had  lost  her.  And 
his  resentment  against  Gale  as  the  cause  of  her 
leaving  deepened  with  every  hour  that  he  sat 
next  day  with  his  stubborn  pipe  before  the  fire. 
Duke  had  acceded  with  much  reluctance  to  the 
undertaking  that  was  to  force  her  into  a  marriage. 
Gale  had  only  partly  convinced  him  that  once 
taken,  the  step  would  save  her  from  de  Spain  and 
end  their  domestic  troubles.  The  failure  of  the 
scheme  left  Duke  sullen,  and  his  nephew  sore,  with 
humiliation. 

In  spite  of  the  alarms  and  excitement  of  the 
night,  of  Gale's  determination  that  de  Spain 
should  never  leave  the  Gap  with  Nan,  and  of  the 
rousing  of  every  man  within  it  to  cut  off  their 

369 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

escape,  Duke  stubbornly  refused  to  pursue  the 
man  he  so  hated  or  even  to  leave  the  house  in 
any  effort  to  balk  his  escape.  But  Gale,  and  Sas- 
soon  who  had  even  keener  reason  for  hating  de 
Spain,  left  Duke  to  sulk  as  he  would,  and  set 
about  getting  the  enemy  without  any  help  from 
the  head  of  the  house.  In  spite  of  the  caution 
with  which  de  Spain  had  covered  his  movements, 
and  the  flood  and  darkness  of  the  night,  Sassoon 
by  a  mere  chance  had  got  wind  through  one  of 
his  men  of  de  Spain's  appearance  at  Duke 
Morgan's,  and  had  begun  to  plan,  before  Nan  and 
de  Spain  had  got  out  of  the  house,  how  to  trap 
him. 

Duke  heard  from  Pardaloe,  during  the  night  and 
the  early  morning,  every  report  with  indifference. 
He  only  sat  and  smoked,  hour  after  hour,  in  si 
lence.  But  after  it  became  known  that  de  Spain 
had,  beyond  doubt,  made  good  his  escape,  and 
had  Nan  with  him,  the  old  man's  sullenness 
turned  into  rage,  and  when  Gale,  rankling  with 
defeat,  stormed  in  to  see  him  in  the  morning,  he 
caught  the  full  force  of  Duke's  wrath.  The 
younger  man  taken  aback  by  the  outbreak  and 
in  drink  himself,  returned  his  abuse  without  hesi 
tation  or  restraint.  Pardaloe  came  between  them 
before  harm  was  done,  but  the  two  men  parted 
with  the  anger  of  their  quarrel  deepened. 

370 


Puppets  of  Fate 

When  Nan  rode  with  de  Spain  into  Sleepy  Cat 
that  morning,  Lefever  had  already  told  their 
story  to  Jeffries  over  the  telephone  from  Cala- 
basas,  and  Mrs.  Jeffries  had  thrown  open  her 
house  to  receive  Nan.  Weary  from  exposure, 
confusion,  and  hunger,  Nan  was  only  too  grate 
ful  for  a  refuge. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  de  Spain  was 
invited  to  join  the  family  at  supper.  In  the  eve 
ning  the  Jeffrieses  went  down-town. 

De  Spain  was  talking  with  Nan  in  the  living- 
room  when  the  telephone-bell  rang  in  the  library. 

De  Spain  took  the  call,  and  a  man's  voice  an 
swered  his  salutation.  The  speaker  asked  for 
Mr.  de  Spain  and  seemed  particular  to  make  sure 
of  his  identity. 

"This,"  repeated  de  Spain  more  than  once,  and 
somewhat  testily,  "is  Henry  de  Spain  speaking.5' 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you,  Mr.  de 
Spain." 

"Go  ahead." 

"I  don't  mean  over  the  telephone.  Could  you 
make  it  convenient  to  come  down-town  some 
where,  say  to  Tenison's,  any  time  this  evening?" 

The  thought  of  a  possible  ambuscade  deterred 
the  listener  less  than  the  thought  of  leaving  Nan, 
from  whom  he  was  unwilling  to  separate  himself 
for  a  moment.  Likewise,  the  possibility  of  an 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

attempt  to  kidnap  her  in  his  absence  was  not 
overlooked.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  message 
came  from  Duke  and  bore  some  suggestion  of  a 
compromise  in  the  situation,  de  Spain  was  un 
willing  to  lose  it.  With  these  considerations  turn 
ing  in  his  mind,  he  answered  the  man  brusquely: 
"Who  are  you?" 

The  vein  of  sharpness  in  the  question  met  with 
no  deviation  from  the  slow,  even  tone  of  the  voice 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire.  "I  am  not  in  posi 
tion  to  give  you  my  name,"  came  the  answer, 
"at  least,  not  over  the  wire." 

A  vague  impression  suddenly  crossed  de  Spain's 
mind  that  somewhere  he  had  heard  the  voice 
before.  "I  can't  come  down-town  to-night,"  re 
turned  de  Spain  abruptly.  "If  you'll  come  to 
my  office  to-morrow  morning  at  nine,  I'll  talk 
with  you." 

A  pause  preceded  the  answer.  "It  wouldn't 
hardly  do  for  me  to  come  to  your  office  in  day 
light.  But  if  it  would,  I  couldn't  do  it  to-morrow, 
because  I  shan't  be  in  town  in  the  morning." 

"Where  are  you  talking  from  now?" 

"I'm  at  Tenison's  place." 

"Hang  you,"  said  de  Spain  instantly,  "I  know 
you  now."  But  he  said  the  words  to  himself, 
not  aloud. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  could  come  up  to  where 
372 


Puppets  of  Fate 

you  are  to-night  for  a  few  minutes'  talk?"  con 
tinued  the  man  coolly. 

"Not  unless  you  have  something  very  im 
portant." 

"What  I  have  is  more  important  to  you  than 
to  me." 

De    Spain    took    an    instant    to    decide.     "All 
right,"  he  said  impatiently;  "come  along.    Only- 
he  paused  to  let  the  word  sink  in,  '  — if  this  is  a 
game  you're  springing — 

"I'm  springing  no  game,"  returned  the  man 
evenly. 

"  You're  liable  to  be  one  of  the  men  hurt." 

"That's  fair  enough." 

"Come  along,  then." 

"Mr.  Jeffries's  place  is  west  of  the  court 
house?" 

"Directly  west.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  just  how  to 
get  here.  Do  you  hear?" 

"I'm  listening." 

"Leave  Main  Street  at  Rancherio  Street.  Fol 
low  Rancherio  north  four  blocks,  turn  west  into 
Grant  Avenue.  Mr.  Jeffries's  house  is  on  the 


corner." 


"I'll  find  it." 

"Don't  come  any  other  way.     If  you  do,  you 


won't  see  me." 


I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  Mr.  de  Spain,  and  I'll 
373 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

come  as  you  say.  There's  only  one  thing  I  should 
like  to  ask.  It  would  be  as  much  as  my  life  is 
worth  to  be  seen  talking  to  you.  And  there  are 
other  good  reasons  why  I  shouldn't  like  to  have 
it  known  I  had  talked  to  you.  Would  you  mind 
putting  out  the  lights  before  I  come  up — I  mean, 
in  the  front  of  the  house  and  in  the  room  where 
we  talk?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  mean — I  am  always  will 
ing  to  take  a  chance  against  any  other  man's. 
But  I  warn  you,  come  prepared  to  take  care  of 
yourself." 

"If  you  will  do  as  I  ask,  no  harm  will  come  to 
any  one." 

De  Spain  heard  the  receiver  hung  up  at  the 
other  end  of  the  wire.  He  signalled  the  operator 
hastily,  called  for  his  office,  asked  for  Lefever,  and, 
failing  to  get  him,  got  hold  of  Bob  Scott.  To 
him  he  explained  rapidly  what  had  occurred,  and 
what  he  wanted.  "Get  up  to  Grant  and  Ran- 
cherio,  Bob,  as  quick  as  the  Lord  will  let  you. 
Come  by  the  back  streets.  There's  a  high  mul 
berry  hedge  at  the  southwest  corner  you  can  get 
behind.  This  chap  may  have  been  talking  for 
somebody  else.  Anyway,  look  the  man  over  when 
he  passes  under  the  arc-light.  If  it  is  Sassoon  or 
Gale  Morgan,  come  into  Jeffries's  house  by  the 
rear  door.  Wait  in  the  kitchen  for  my  call  from 

374 


Puppets  of  Fate 

the  living-room,  or  a  shot.  I'll  arrange  for  your 
getting  in." 

Leaving  the  telephone,  de  Spain  rejoined  Nan 
in  the  living-room.  He  told  her  briefly  of  the  ex 
pected  visit  and  explained,  laughingly,  that  his 
caller  had  asked  to  have  the  lights  out  and  to 
see  him  alone. 

Nan,  standing  close  to  him,  her  own  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  her  curling  hair  against  his 
scarred  cheek,  asked  questions  about  the  incident 
because  he  seemed  to  be  holding  something  back. 
She  professed  to  be  satisfied  when  he  requested  her 
to  go  up  to  her  room  and  explained  it  was  probably 
one  of  the  men  coming  to  tell  about  some  petty 
thieving  on  the  line  or  of  a  strike  brewing  among 
the  drivers.  He  made  so  little  of  the  incident 
that  Nan  walked  up  the  stairs  on  de  Spain's  arm 
reassured.  When  he  kissed  her  at  her  room  door 
and  turned  down  the  stairs  again,  she  leaned  in 
the  half-light  over  the  banister,  waving  one  hand 
at  him  and  murmuring  the  last  caution:  "Be 
careful,  Henry,  won't  you?" 

"Dearie,  I'm  always  careful." 

'"Cause  you're  all  I've  got  now,"  she  whis 
pered. 

"You're  all  I've  got,  Nan,  girl." 

"I  haven't  got  any  home — or  anything — just 
you.  Don't  go  to  the  door  yourself.  Leave  the 

375 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

front  door  open.     Stand  behind  the  end  of  the 
piano  till  you  are  awfully  sure  who  it  is." 

"What  a  head,  Nan!" 

De  Spain  cut  off  the  lights,  threw  open  the  front 
door,  and  in  the  darkness  sat  down  on  the  piano 
stool.  A  heavy  step  on  the  porch,  a  little  while 
later,  was  followed  by  a  knock  on  the  open  door. 

"Come  in! "  called  de  Spain  roughly.  The  bulk 
of  a  large  man  filled  and  obscured  for  an  instant 
the  opening,  then  the  visitor  stepped  carefully 
over  the  threshold.  "What  do  you  want?" 
asked  de  Spain  without  changing  his  tone.  He 
awaited  with  keenness  the  sound  of  the  answer. 

"Is  Henry  de  Spain  here?" 

The  voice  was  not  familiar  to  de  Spain's  ear. 
He  told  himself  the  man  was  unknown  to  him. 
"I  am  Henry  de  Spain,"  he  returned  without 
hesitation.  "What  do  you  want?" 

The  visitor's  deliberation  was  reflected  in  his 
measured  speaking.  "I  am  from  Thief  River," 
he  began,  and  his  reverberating  voice  was  low 
and  distinct.  "I  left  there  some  time  ago  to  do 
some  work  in  Morgan's  Gap.  I  guess  you  know, 
full  as  well  as  I  do,  that  the  general  office  at  Medi 
cine  Bend  has  its  own  investigators,  aside  from 
the  division  men.  I  was  sent  in  to  Morgan's 
Gap  some  time  ago  to  find  out  who  burned  the 
Calabasas  barn." 

376 


Puppets  of  Fate 

"Railroad  man,  eh?" 

"For  about  six  years." 

"And  you  report  to ?" 

"Kennedy." 

De  Spain  paused  in  spite  of  his  resolve  to  push 
the  questions.  While  he  listened  a  fresh  convic 
tion  had  flashed  across  his  mind.  "You  called 
me  up  on  the  telephone  one  night  last  week,"  he 
said  suddenly. 

The  answer  came  without  evasion.     "I  did." 

"I  chased  you  across  the  river?" 

"You  did." 

"You  gave  me  a  message  from  Nan  Morgan 
that  she  never  gave  you." 

"I  did.  I  thought  she  needed  you  right  off. 
She  didn't  know  me  as  I  rightly  am.  I  knew 
what  was  going  on.  I  rode  into  town  that  eve 
ning  and  rode  out  again.  It  was  not  my  business, 
and  I  couldn't  let  it  interfere  with  the  business 
I'm  paid  to  look  after.  That's  the  reason  I 
dodged  you." 

"There  is  a  chair  at  the  left  of  the  door;  sit 
down.  What's  your  name  ?" 

The  man  feeling  around  slowly,  deposited  his  an 
gular  bulk  with  care  upon  the  little  chair.  "My 
name" — in  the  tenseness  of  the  dark  the  words 
seemed  to  carry  added  mystery — "is  Pardaloe." 

"Where  from?" 

377 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"My  home  is  southwest  of  the  Superstition 
Mountains." 

"You've  got  a  brother — Joe  Pardaloe?"  sug 
gested  de  Spain  to  trap  him. 

"No,  I've  got  no  brother.  I  am  just  plain  Jim 
Pardaloe." 

"Say  what  you  have  got  to  say,  Jim." 

"The  only  job  I  could  get  in  the  Gap  was  with 
old  Duke  Morgan — I've  been  working  for  him, 
off  and  on,  and  spending  the  rest  of  my  time  with 
Gale  and  Dave  Sassoon.  There  were  three  men 
in  the  barn-burning.  Dave  Sassoon  put  up  the 
job." 

"Where  is  Dave  Sassoon  now?" 

"Dead." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say." 

Both  men  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

" Yesterday  morning's  fight?"  asked  de  Spain 
reluctantly. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  did  he  happen  to  catch  us  on  El  Capi- 
tan?" 

"He  saw  a  fire  on  Music  Mountain  and  watched 
the  lower  end  of  the  Gap  all  night.  Sassoon  was 
a  wide-awake  man." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,  Pardaloe,"  continued  de 
Spain  after  a  moment.  "Nobody  could  call  it 

378 


Puppets  of  Fate 

my  fault.  It  was  either  he  or  I — or  the  life  of  a 
woman  who  never  harmed  a  hair  of  his  head, 
and  a  woman  I'm  bound  to  protect.  He  was 
running  when  he  was  hit.  If  he  had  got  to  cover 
again  there  was  nothing  to  stop  him  from  pick 
ing  both  of  us  off.  I  shot  low — most  of  the  lead 
must  have  gone  into  the  ground." 

"He  was  hit  in  the  head." 

De  Spain  was  silent. 

"It  was  a  soft-nose  bullet,"  continued  Pardaloe. 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  "I'll  tell  you  about 
that,  too,  Pardaloe,"  de  Spain  went  on  collectedly. 
"I  lost  my  rifle  before  that  man  opened  fire  on 
us.  Nan  happened  to  have  her  rifle  with  her — 
if  she  hadn't,  he'd  've  dropped  one  or  both  of  us 
ofT  El  Capitan.  We  were  pinned  against  the  wall 
like  a  couple  of  targets.  If  there  were  soft-nose 
bullets  in  her  rifle  it's  because  she  uses  them 
on  game — bobcats  and  mountain-lions.  I  never 
thought  of  it  till  this  minute.  That  is  it." 

"What  I  came  up  to  tell  you  has  to  do  with 
Dave  Sassoon.  From  what  happened  to-day  in 
the  Gap  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  it  now. 
Gale  and  Duke  quarrelled  yesterday  over  the  way 
things  turned  out;  they  were  pretty  bitter.  This 
afternoon  Gale  took  it  up  again  with  his  uncle, 
and  it  ended  in  Duke's  driving  him  clean  out  of 
the  Gap." 

379 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Where  has  he  gone?" 

"Nobody  knows  yet.  Ed  Wickwire  told  me 
once  that  your  father  was  shot  from  ambush  a 
good  many  years  ago.  It  was  north  of  Medicine 
Bend,  on  a  ranch  near  the  Peace  River;  that  you 
never  found  out  who  killed  him,  and  that  one 
reason  why  you  came  up  into  this  country  was 
to  keep  an  eye  out  for  a  clew." 

"What  about  it?"  asked  de  Spain,  his  tone 
hardening. 

"I  was  riding  home  one  night  about  a  month 
ago  from  Calabasas  with  Sassoon.  He'd  been 
drinking.  I  let  him  do  the  talking.  He  began 
cussing  you  out,  and  talked  pretty  hard  about 
what  you'd  done,  and  what  he'd  done,  and  what 
he  was  going  to  do—  Nothing,  it  seemed,  would 
hurry  the  story.  "Finally,  Sassoon  says:  'That 
hound  don't  know  yet  who  got  his  dad.  It  was 
Duke  Morgan;  that's  who  got  him.  I  was  with 
Duke  when  he  turned  the  trick.  We  rode  down 
to  de  Spain's  ranch  one  night  to  look  up  a  rustler.' 
That,"  concluded  Pardaloe,  "was  all  Sassoon 
would  say." 

He  stopped.  He  seemed  to  wait.  There  was 
no  word  of  answer,  none  of  comment  from  the 
man  sitting  near  him.  But,  for  one,  at  least,  who 
heard  the  passionless,  monotonous  recital  of  a 
murder  of  the  long  ago,  there  followed  a  silence  as 

380 


Puppets  of  Fate 

relentless  as  fate,  a  silence  shrouded  in  the  mys 
tery  of  the  darkness  and  striking  despair  into  two 
hearts — a  silence  more  fearful  than  any  word. 

Pardaloe  shuffled  his  feet.  He  coughed,  but 
he  evoked  no  response.  "I  thought  you  was  en 
titled  to  know,"  he  said  finally,  "now  that  Sas- 
soon  will  never  talk  any  more." 

De  Spain  moistened  his  lips.  When  he  spoke 
his  voice  was  cracked  and  harsh,  as  if  with  what 
he  had  heard  he  had  suddenly  grown  old. 

"You  are  right,  Pardaloe.  I  thank  you.  I — 
when  I — in  the  morning.  Pardaloe,  for  the  pres 
ent,  go  back  to  the  Gap.  I  will  talk  with  Wick- 


wire — to-morrow." 


"Good  night,  Mr.  de  Spain." 

"Good  night,  Pardaloe." 

Bending  forward,  limp,  in  his  chair,  supporting 
his  head  vacantly  on  his  hands,  trying  to  think 
and  fearing  to  think,  de  Spain  heard  Pardaloe's 
measured  tread  on  the  descending  steps,  and 
listened  mechanically  to  the  retreating  echoes  of 
his  footsteps  down  the  shaded  street.  Minute 
after  minute  passed.  De  Spain  made  no  move. 
A  step  so  light  that  it  could  only  have  been  the 
step  of  a  delicate  girlhood,  a  step  free  as  the  foot 
fall  of  youth,  poised  as  the  tread  of  womanhood 
and  beauty,  came  down  the  stairs.  Slight  as  she 
was,  and  silent  as  he  was,  she  walked  straight  to 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

him  in  the  darkness,  and,  sinking  between  his  feet, 
wound  her  hands  through  his  two  arms.  "I 
heard  everything,  Henry,"  she  murmured,  look 
ing  up.  An  involuntary  start  of  protest  was  his 
only  response.  "I  was  afraid  of  a  plot  against 
you.  I  stayed  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Henry, 
I  told  you  long  ago  some  dreadful  thing  would 
come  between  us — something  not  our  fault.  And 
now  it  comes  to  dash  our  cup  of  happiness  when 
it  is  filling.  Something  told  me,  Henry,  it  would 
come  to-night — some  bad  news,  some  horror  laid 
up  against  us  out  of  a  past  that  neither  you  nor 
I  are  to  blame  for.  In  all  my  sorrow  I  am  sorriest, 
Henry,  for  you.  Why  did  I  ever  cross  your  path 
to  make  you  unhappy  when  blood  lay  between 
your  people  and  mine  ?  My  wretched  uncle  !  I 
never  dreamed  he  had  murder  on  his  soul — and  of 
all  others,  that  murder !  I  knew  he  did  wrong 
— I  knew  some  of  his  associates  were  crimi 
nals.  But  he  has  been  a  father  and  mother  to 
me  since  I  could  creep — I  never  knew  any  father 
or  mother." 

She  stopped,  hoping  perhaps  he  would  say 
some  little  word,  that  he  would  even  pat  her 
head,  or  press  her  hand,  but  he  sat  like  one 
stunned.  "If  it  could  have  been  anything  but 
this!"  she  pleaded,  low  and  sorrowfully.  "Oh, 
why  did  you  not  listen  to  me  before  we  were  en- 

382 


Puppets  of  Fate 

gulfed  !  My  dear  Henry  !  You  who've  given  me 
all  the  happiness  I  have  ever  had— that  the  blood 
of  my  own  should  come  against  you  and  yours !" 
The  emotion  she  struggled  with,  and  fought  back 
with  all  the  strength  of  her  nature,  rose  in  a  re 
sistless  tide  that  swept  her  on,  in  the  face  of  his 
ominous  silence,  to  despair.  She  clasped  her  hands 
in  silent  misery,  losing  hope  with  every  moment 
of  his  stoniness  that  she  could  move  him  to  re 
straint  or  pity  toward  her  wretched  foster-father. 
She  recalled  the  merciless  words  he  had  spoken 
on  the  mountain  when  he  told  her  of  his  father's 
death.  Her  tortured  imagination  pictured  the 
horror  of  the  sequel,  in  which  the  son  of  the  mur 
dered  man  should  meet  him  who  had  taken  his 
father's  life.  The  fate  of  it,  the  hopelessness  of 
escape  from  its  awful  consequence,  overcame  her. 
Her  breath,  no  longer  controlled,  came  brokenly, 
and  her  voice  trembled. 

"You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  Henry — 
you've  been  the  only  man  I've  ever  known  that 
always,  everywhere,  thought  of  me  first.  I  told 
you  I  didn't  deserve  it,  I  wasn't  worthy  of  it— 

His  hands  slipped  silently  over  her  hands.  He 
gathered  her  close  into  his  arms,  and  his  tears  fell 
on  her  upturned  face. 


383 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HOPE    FORLORN 

'  I  AHERE  were  hours  in  that  night  that  each 
had  reason  long  to  remember;  a  night  that 
seemed  to  bring  them,  in  spite  of  their  devotion, 
to  the  end  of  their  dream.  They  parted  late, 
each  trying  to  soften  the  blow  as  it  fell  on  the 
other,  each  professing  a  courage  which,  in  the 
face  of  the  revelation,  neither  could  clearly  feel. 

In  the  morning  Jeffries  brought  down  to  de 
Spain,  who  had  spent  a  sleepless  night  at  the 
office,  a  letter  from  Nan. 

De  Spain  opened  it  with  acute  misgivings. 
Hardly  able  to  believe  his  eyes,  he  slowly  read: 

DEAREST: 

A  wild  hope*  has  come  to-  me.  Perhaps  we  don't  know 
the  truth  of  this  terrible  story  as  it  really  is.  Suppose  we 
should  be  condemning  poor  Uncle  Duke  without  having  the 
real  facts  ?  Sassoon  was  a  wretch,  Henry,  if  ever  one  lived 
— a  curse  to  every  one.  What  purpose  he  could  serve  by 
repeating  this  story,  which  he  must  have  kept  very  secret 
till  now,  I  don't  know;  but  there  was  some  reason.  I  must 
know  the  whole  truth — I  feel  that  I,  alone,  can  get  hold  of 
it,  and  that  you  would  approve  what  I  am  doing  if  you  were 
here  with  me  in  this  little  room,  where  I  am  writing  at  day 
break,  to  show  you  my  heart. 

384 


Hope  Forlorn 

Long  before  you  get  this  I  shall  be  speeding  toward  the 
Gap.  I  am  going  to  Uncle  Duke  to  get  from  him  the  exact 
truth.  Uncle  Duke  is  breaking — has  broken — and  now  that 
the  very  worst  has  come,  and  we  must  face  it,  he  will  tell 
me  what  I  ask.  Whether  I  can  get  him  to  repeat  this  to 
you,  to  come  to  you,  to  throw  himself  on  your  pity,  my  dear 
est  one,  I  don't  know.  But  it  is  for  this  I  am  going  to  try, 
and  for  this  I  beg  of  your  love — the  love  of  which  I  have  been 
so  proud  ! — that  you  will  let  me  stay  with  him  until  I  at  least 
learn  everything  and  can  bring  the  whole  story  to  you. 
If  I  can  bring  him,  I  will. 

And  I  shall  be  safe  with  him — perfectly  safe.  Gale  has 
been  driven  away.  Pardaloe,  I  know  I  can  trust,  and  he 
will  be  under  the  roof  with  me.  Please,  do  not  try  to  come 
to  me.  It  might  ruin  everything.  Only  forgive  me,  and  I 
shall  be  back  with  what  I  hope  for,  or  what  I  fear,  very,  very 
soon.  Not  till  then  can  I  bear  to  look  into  your  eyes.  You 
have  a  better  right  than  anyone  in  the  world  to  know  the 
whole  truth,  cost  what  it  may.  Be  patient  for  only  a  little 
while  with 

NAN. 

It  was  Jeffries  who  said,  afterward,  he  hoped 
never  again  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  letter  such  as 
that.  Never  until  he  had  read  and  grasped  the 
contents  of  Nan's  note  had  Jeffries  seen  the 
bundle  of  resource  and  nerve  and  sinew,  that  men 
called  Henry  de  Spain,  go  to  pieces.  For  once, 
trouble  overbore  him. 

When  he  was  able  to  speak  he  told  Jeffries 
everything.  "It  is  my  fault,"  he  said  hopelessly. 
"I  was  so  crippled,  so  stunned,  she  must  have 
thought — I  see  it  now — that  I  was  making  ready 

385 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

to  ride  out  by  daybreak  and  shoot  Duke  down  on 
sight.  It's  the  price  a  man  must  pay,  Jeffries, 
for  the  ability  to  defend  himself  against  this 
bunch  of  hold-up  men  and  assassins.  Because 
they  can't  get  me,  I'm  a  ' gunman' " 

"No,  you're  not  a  *  gunman." 

"A  gunman  and  nothing  else.  That's  what 
everybody,  friends  and  enemies,  reckon  me — a 
gunman.  You  put  me  here  to  clean  out  this 
Calabasas  gang,  not  because  of  my  good  looks, 
but  because  I've  been,  so  far,  a  fraction  of  a 
second  quicker  on  a  trigger  than  these  double- 
damned  crooks. 

"I  don't  get  any  fun  out  of  standing  for  ten 
minutes  at  a  time  with  a  sixty-pound  safety-valve 
dragging  on  my  heart,  watching  a  man's  eye  to 
see  whether  he  is  going  to  pull  a  gun  on  me  and 
knock  me  down  with  a  slug  before  I  can  pull  one 
and  knock  him  down.  I  don't  care  for  that  kind 
of  thing,  Jeff.  Hell's  delight !  I'd  rather  have 
a  little  ranch  with  a  little  patch  of  alfalfa — enough 
alfalfa  to  feed  a  little  bunch  of  cattle,  a  hundred 
miles  from  every  living  soul.  What  I  would  like  to 
do  is  to  own  a  piece  of  land  under  a  ten-cent  ditch, 
and  watch  the  wheat  sprout  out  of  the  desert." 

Jeffries,  from  behind  his  pipe,  regarded  de 
Spain's  random  talk  calmly. 

"I  do  feel  hard  over  my  father's  death,"  he 
386 


Hope  Forlorn 

went  on  moodily.  "Who  wouldn't?  If  God 
meant  me  to  forget  it,  why  did  he  put  this  mark 
on  my  face,  Jeff?  I  did  talk  pretty  strong  to 
Nan  about  it  on  Music  Mountain.  She  accused 
me  then  of  being  a  gunman.  It  made  me  hot  to 
be  set  down  for  a  gunman  by  her.  I  guess  I  did 
give  it  back  to  her  too  strong.  That's  the  trouble 
— my  bark  is  worse  than  my  bite — I'm  always 
putting  things  too  strong.  I  didn't  know  when 
I  was  talking  to  her  then  that  Sandusky  and 
Logan  were  dead.  Of  course,  she  thought  I  was 
a  butcher.  But  how  could  I  help  it  ? 

"I  did  feel,  for  a  long  time,  I'd  like  to  kill  with 
my  own  hands  the  man  that  murdered  my  father, 
Jeff.  My  mother  must  have  realized  that  her 
babe,  if  a  man-child,  was  doomed  to  a  life  of  blood 
shed.  I've  been  trying  to  think  most  of  the  night 
what  she'd  want  me  to  do  now.  I  don't  know 
what  I  can  do,  or  can't  do,  when  I  set  eyes  on 
that  old  scoundrel.  He's  got  to  tell  the  truth — 
that's  all  I  say  now.  If  he  lies,  after  what  he 
made  my  mother  suffer,  he  ought  to  die  like  a 
dog — no  matter  who  he  is. 

"I  don't  want  to  break  Nan's  heart.  What 
can  I  do  ?  Hanging  him  here  in  Sleepy  Cat,  if 
I  could  do  it,  wouldn't  help  her  feelings  a  whole 
lot.  If  I  could  see  the  fellow—  de  Spain's 
hands,  spread  before  him  on  the  table,  drew  up 

387 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

tight,  "if  I  could  get  my  fingers  on  his  throat,  for 
a  minute,  and  talk  to  him,  tell  him  what  I  think 
of  him — I  might  know  what  I  would  want  to  do 
—Nan  might  be  there  to  see  and  judge  between 
us.  I'd  be  almost  willing  to  leave  things  to  her 
to  settle  herself.  I  only  want  what's  right. 
But,"  the  oath  that  recorded  his  closing  threat 
was  collected  and  pitiless,  "if  any  harm  comes  to 
that  girl  now  from  this  wild  trip  back  among 
those  wolves — God  pity  the  men  that  put  it  over. 
Fll  wipe  out  the  whole  accursed  clan,  if  I  have  to 
swing  for  it  right  here  in  Sleepy  Cat !" 

John  Lefever,  Jeffries,  Scott  in  turn  took  him 
in  hand  to  hold  him  during  three  days,  to  restrain 
the  fury  of  his  resentment,  and  keep  him  from 
riding  to  the  Gap  in  a  temper  that  each  of  them 
knew  would  mean  only  a  tragedy  worse  than 
what  had  gone  before.  Mountain-men  who  hap 
pened  in  and  out  of  Sleepy  Cat  during  those  three 
days  remember  how  it  seemed  for  that  time  as 
if  the  attention  of  every  man  and  woman  in  the 
whole  country  was  fixed  on  the  new  situation  that 
balked  de  Spain.  They  knew  only  that  Nan  had 
gone  back  to  her  people,  not  why  she  had  gone 
back;  but  the  air  was  eager  with  surmise  and 
rumor  as  to  what  had  happened,  and  in  this  com 
plete  overturning  of  all  de  Spain's  hopes,  what 
would  happen  before  the  story  ended. 

388 


Hope  Forlorn 

Even  three  days  of  tactful  representation  and 
patient  admonition  from  cool-headed  counsellors 
did  not  accomplish  all  they  hoped  for  in  de  Spain's 
attitude.  His  rage  subsided,  but  only  to  be  fol 
lowed  by  a  settled  gloom  that  they  knew  might 
burst  into  uncontrollable  anger  at  any  moment. 

A  report  reached  McAlpin  that  Gale  Morgan 
was  making  ready  to  return  to  Music  Mountain 
with  the  remnant  of  Sandusky's  gang,  to  make 
a  demand  on  Duke  for  certain  property  and 
partnership  adjustments.  This  rumor  he  tele 
phoned  to  Jeffries.  Before  talking  with  de  Spain, 
Jeffries  went  over  the  information  with  Lefever. 
The  two  agreed  it  was  right,  in  the  circumstances, 
that  de  Spain  should  be  nearer  than  Sleepy  Cat 
to  Nan.  Moreover,  the  period  of  waiting  she  had 
enjoined  on  him  was  almost  complete. 

Without  giving  de  Spain  the  story  fully,  the 
two  men  talking  before  him  let  the  discussion  drift 
toward  a  proposal  on  his  part  to  go  down  to  Cala- 
basas,  where  he  could  more  easily  keep  track  of 
any  movement  to  or  from  the  Gap,  and  this  they 
approved.  De  Spain,  already  chafing  under  a 
hardly  endured  restraint,  lost  no  time  in  starting 
for  Calabasas,  directing  Lefever  to  follow  next 
day. 

It  added  nothing  to  his  peace  of  mind  in  the 
morning  to  learn  definitely  from  McAlpin  that 

389 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

Gale  Morgan,  within  twenty-four  hours,  had  really 
disappeared  from  Calabasas.  No  word  of  any 
kind  had  come  from  Music  Mountain  for  days. 
No  one  at  Calabasas  was  aware  even  that  Nan 
had  gone  into  the  Gap  again.  Bob  Scott  was  at 
Thief  River.  De  Spain  telephoned  to  him  to 
come  up  on  the  early  stage,  and  turned  his  atten 
tion  toward  getting  information  from  Music 
Mountain  without  violating  Nan's  injunction  not 
to  frustrate  her  most  delicate  effort  with  her 
uncle. 

As  a  possible  scout  to  look  into  her  present 
situation  and  report  on  it,  McAlpin  could  point 
only  to  Bull  Page.  Bull  was  a  ready  instrument, 
but  his  present  value  as  an  assistant  had  become 
a  matter  of  doubt,  since  practically  every  man  in 
the  Gap  had  threatened  within  the  week  to  blow 
his  head  off — though  Bull  himself  felt  no  scruples 
against  making  an  attempt  to  reach  Music  Moun 
tain  and  get  back  again.  It  was  proposed  by  the 
canny  McAlpin  to  send  him  in  with  a  team  and 
light  wagon,  ostensibly  to  bring  out  his  trunk, 
which,  if  it  had  not  been  fed  to  the  horses,  was 
still  in  Duke's  barn.  As  soon  as  a  rig  could  be 
got  up  Page  started  out. 

It  was  late  November.  A  far,  clear  air  drew 
the  snow-capped  ranges  sharply  down  to  the  eye 
of  the  desert — as  if  the  speckless  sky,  lighted  by 

390 


Hope  Forlorn 

the  radiant  sun,  were  but  a  monster  glass  rigged 
to  trick  the  credulous  retina.  De  Spain,  in  the 
saddle  in  front  of  the  barn,  his  broad  hat  brim 
set  on  the  impassive  level  of  the  Western  horse 
man,  his  lips  seeming  to  compress  his  thoughts, 
his  lines  over  his  forearm,  and  his  hands  half- 
slipped  into  the  pockets  of  his  snug  leather  coat, 
watched  Page  with  his  light  wagon  and  horses 
drive  away. 

Idling  around  the  neighborhood  of  the  barns 
in  the  saddle,  de  Spain  saw  him  gradually  recede 
into  the  long  desert  perspective,  the  perspective 
which  almost  alone  enabled  the  watcher  to  realize 
as  he  curtained  his  eyes  behind  their  long,  steady 
lashes  from  the  blazing  sun,  that  it  was  a  good 
bit  of  a  way  to  the  foot  of  the  great  outpost  of 
the  Superstition  Range. 

De  Spain's  restlessness  prevented  his  remaining 
quietly  anywhere  for  long.  As  the  morning  ad 
vanced  he  cantered  out  on  the  Music  Mountain 
trail,  thinking  of  and  wishing  for  a  sight  of  Nan. 
The  deadly  shock  of  Pardaloe's  story  had  been 
dulled  by  days  and  nights  of  pain.  His  deep- 
rooted  love  and  his  loneliness  had  quieted  his  im 
pulse  for  vengeance  and  overborne  him  with  a 
profound  sadness.  He  realized  how  different  his 
feelings  were  now  from  what  they  had  been  when 
she  knelt  before  him  in  the  darkened  room  and, 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

not  daring  to  plead  for  mercy  for  her  uncle,  had 
asked  him  only  for  the  pity  for  herself  that  he  had 
seemed  so  slow  to  give.  Something  reproached 
him  now  for  his  coldness  at  the  moment  that 
he  should  have  thought  of  her  suffering  before 
his  own. 

The  crystal  brightness  of  the  day  brought  no 
elation  to  his  thoughts.  His  attention  fixed  on 
nothing  that  did  not  revert  to  Nan  and  his  hun 
ger  to  see  her  again.  If  he  regarded  the  majestic 
mountain  before  him,  it  was  only  to  recall  the 
day  she  had  fed  him  at  its  foot,  long  before  she 
loved  him — he  thought  of  that  truth  now — when 
he  lay  dying  on  it.  If  the  black  reaches  of  the 
lava  beds  came  within  view,  it  was  only  to  re 
mind  him  that,  among  those  desolate  rocks,  this 
simple,  blue-eyed  girl,  frail  in  his  eyes  as  a  cob 
web  despite  her  graceful  strength,  had  intrusted 
all  her  life  and  happiness  to  him,  given  her  fresh 
lips  to  his,  endured  without  complaint  the  head 
strong  ardor  of  his  caresses  and,  by  the  pretty 
mockery  of  her  averted  eyes,  provoked  his  love  to 
new  adventure. 

Memory  seemed  that  morning  as  keen  as  the 
fickle  air — so  sharply  did  it  bring  back  to  him 
the  overwhelming  pictures  of  their  happiness  to 
gether.  And  out  of  his  acute  loneliness  rose 
vague  questionings  and  misgivings.  He  said  to 

392 


Hope  Forlorn 

himself  in  bitter  self-reproach  that  she  would  not 
have  gone  if  he  had  been  to  her  all  he  ought  to 
have  been  in  the  crisis  of  that  night.  If  harm 
should  befall  her  now  !  How  the  thought  clutched 
and  dragged  at  his  heart.  Forebodings  tortured 
him,  and  in  the  penumbra  of  his  thoughts  seemed 
to  leave  something  he  could  not  shake  off — a 
vague,  haunting  fear,  as  if  of  some  impending 
tragedy  that  should  wreck  their  future. 

It  was  while  riding  in  this  way  that  his  eyes, 
reading  mechanically  the  wagon  trail  he  was 
aimlessly  following — for  no  reason  other  than  that 
it  brought  him,  though  forbidden,  a  little  closer 
to  her — arrested  his  attention.  He  checked  his 
horse.  Something,  the  trail  told  him,  had  hap 
pened.  Page  had  stopped  his  horses.  Page  had 
met  two  men  on  horseback  coming  from  the  Gap. 
After  a  parley — for  the  horses  had  tramped  around 
long  enough  for  one — the  wagon  had  turned  com 
pletely  from  the  trail  and  struck  out  across  the 
desert,  north;  the  two  horsemen,  or  one  with  a 
led  horse,  had  started  back  for  the  Gap. 

All  of  this  de  Spain  gathered  without  moving 
his  horse  outside  a  circle  of  thirty  feet.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Page  might  have  fallen  in  with 
cronies  from  the  Gap,  abandoned  his  job,  and 
started  for  Sleepy  Cat,  but  this  was  unlikely. 
He  might  have  encountered  enemies,  been  point- 

393 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

edly  advised  to  keep  away  from  the  Gap,  and  pre 
tended  to  start  for  Sleepy  Cat,  to  avoid  trouble 
with  them.  Deeming  the  second  the  more  prob 
able  conclusion,  de  Spain,  absorbed  in  his  specu 
lations,  continued  toward  the  Gap  to  see  whether 
he  could  not  pick  up  the  trail  of  Page's  rig  far 
ther  on. 

Within  a  mile  a  further  surprise  awaited  him. 
The  two  horsemen,  who  had  headed  for  the  Gap 
after  stopping  Page,  had  left  the  trail,  turned 
to  the  south,  down  a  small  draw,  which  would 
screen  them  from  sight,  and  set  out  across  the 
desert. 

No  trail  and  no  habitation  lay  in  the  direction 
they  had  taken — and  it  seemed  clearer  to  de  Spain 
that  the  second  horse  was  a  led  horse.  There  was 
a  story  in  the  incident,  but  his  interest  lay  in 
following  Page's  movements,  and  he  spurred 
swiftly  forward  to  see  whether  his  messenger  had 
resumed  the  Gap  trail  and  gone  on  with  his  mis 
sion.  He  followed  this  quest  almost  to  the  moun 
tains,  without  recovering  any  trace  of  Page's  rig. 
He  halted.  It  was  certain  now  that  Page  had 
not  gone  into  the  Gap. 

Perplexed  and  annoyed,  de  Spain,  from  the 
high  ground  on  which  he  sat  his  horse,  cast  his 
eyes  far  out  over  the  desert.  The  brilliant  sun 
shine  flooded  it  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  He 

394 


Hope  Forlorn 

scanned  the  vast  space  without  detecting  a  sign 
of  life  anywhere,  though  none  better  than  he  knew 
that  any  abundance  of  it  might  be  there.  But 
his  gaze  caught  something  of  interest  on  the  far 
thest  northern  horizon,  and  on  this  his  scrutiny 
rested  a  long  time.  A  soft  brown  curtain  rose 
just  above  the  earth  line  against  the  blue  sky. 
Toward  the  east  it  died  away  and  toward  the 
west  it  was  cut  off  by  the  Superstition  peaks. 

De  Spain,  without  giving  the  weather  signs 
much  thought,  recognized  their  import,  but  his 
mind  was  filled  with  his  own  anxieties  and  he 
rode  smartly  back  toward  Calabasas,  because  he 
was  not  at  ease  over  the  puzzles  in  the  trail. 
When  he  reached  the  depression  where  the  horse 
men  had,  without  any  apparent  reason,  turned 
south,  he  halted.  Should  he  follow  them  or  turn 
north  to  follow  Page's  wanderings  ?  If  Page  had 
been  scared  away  from  the  Gap,  for  a  time,  he 
probably  had  no  information  that  de  Spain  wanted, 
and  de  Spain  knew  his  cunning  and  persistence 
well  enough  to  be  confident  he  would  be  back  on 
the  Gap  road,  and  within  the  cover  of  the  moun 
tains,  before  a  storm  should  overtake  him.  On 
the  north  the  brown  curtain  had  risen  fast  and 
already  enveloped  the  farthest  peaks  of  the  range. 
Letting  his  horse  stretch  its  neck,  he  hesitated  a 
moment  longer  trying  to  decide  whether  to  fol- 

395 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

low  the  men  to  the  south  or  the  wagon  to  the 
north.  A  woman  might  have  done  better.  But 
no  good  angel  was  there  to  guide  his  decision, 
and  in  another  moment  he  was  riding  rapidly  to 
the  south  with  the  even,  brown,  misty  cloud  be 
hind  him  rolling  higher  into  the  northern  sky. 


396 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

DE     SPAIN    RIDES    ALONE 

TLJTE  had  ridden  the  trail  but  a  short  time  when 
it  led  him  in  a  wide  angle  backward  and 
around  toward  Calabasas,  and  he  found,  presently, 
that  the  men  he  was  riding  after  were  apparently 
heading  for  the  stage  barns.  In  the  north  the 
rising  curtain  had  darkened.  Toward  Sleepy  Cat 
the  landscape  was  already  obliterated.  In  the 
south  the  sun  shone,  but  the  air  had  grown  sud 
denly  cold,  and  in  the  sharp  drop  de  Spain  realized 
what  was  coming.  His  first  thought  was  of  the 
southern  stages,  which  must  be  warned,  and  as 
he  galloped  up  to  the  big  barn,  with  this  thought 
in  mind  he  saw,  standing  in  the  doorway,  Bull 
Page. 

De  Spain  regarded  him  with  astonishment. 
"How  did  you  get  here  ?"  was  his  sharp  question. 

Page  grinned.  "Got  what  I  was  after,  and  c'm' 
back  sooner'n  I  expected.  Half-way  over  to  the 
Gap,  I  met  Duke  and  the  young  gal  on  horseback, 
headed  for  Calabasas.  They  pulled  up.  I  pulled 
up.  Old  Duke  looked  kind  o'  ga'nted,  and  it 
seemed  like  Nan  was  in  a  considerable  hurry  to 

397 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

get  to  Sleepy  Cat  with  him,  and  he  couldn't  stand 
the  saddle.  Anyway,  they  was  heading  for  Cala- 
basas  to  get  a  rig  from  McAlpin.  I  knowed  Mo 
Alpin  would  never  give  old  Duke  a  rig,  not  if  he 
was  a-dyin'  in  the  saddle." 

"They've  got  your  rig!"  cried  de  Spain. 

"The  gal  asked  me  if  I'd  mind  accommodatin' 
'em,"  explained  Bull  deprecatingly,  "to  save  time." 

"They  headed  north!"  exclaimed  de  Spain. 
The  light  from  the  fast-changing  sky  fell  copper- 
colored  across  his  horse  and  figure.  McAlpin, 
followed  by  a  hostler,  appeared  at  the  barn  door. 

Bull  nodded  to  de  Spain.  "Said  they  wanted 
to  get  there  quick.  She  fig'erd  on  savin'  a  few 
miles  by  strikin'  the  hill  trail  in.  So  I  takes  their 
horses  and  lets  on  I  was  headin'  in  for  the  Gap. 
When  they  got  out  of  sight,  I  turned  'round 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  swift-rolling  curtain  of 
mist  overhead  blotted  the  sun  out  of  the  sky. 

De  Spain  sprang  from  his  saddle  with  a  ringing 
order  to  McAlpin.  "Get  up  a  fresh  saddle-horse  !" 

"A  horse!"  cried  the  startled  barn  boss,  whirl 
ing  on  the  hostler.  "The  strongest  legs  in  the 
stable,  and  don't  lose  a  second  !  Lady  Jane;  up 
with  her !"  he  yelled,  bellowing  his  orders  into  the 
echoing  barn  with  his  hands  to  his  mouth.  "Up 
with  her  for  Mr.  de  Spain  in  a  second  !  Marmon  ! 
Becker !  Lanzon !  What  in  hell  are  you  all 

398 


De  Spain  Rides  Alone 

doing?"  he  roared,  rushing  back  with  a  fusillade 
of  oaths.  "Look  alive,  everybody!" 

"Coming!"  yelled  one  voice  after  another 
from  the  depths  of  the  distant  stalls. 

De  Spain  ran  into  the  office.  Page  caught  his 
horse,  stripped  the  rifle  from  its  holster,  and 
hurriedly  began  uncinching.  Hostlers  running 
through  the  barn  called  shrilly  back  and  forth, 
and  de  Spain  springing  up  the  stairs  to  his  room 
provided  what  he  wanted  for  his  hurried  flight. 
When  he  dashed  down  with  coats  on  his  arm  the 
hoofs  of  Lady  Jane  were  clattering  down  the  long 
gangway.  A  stable-boy  slid  from  her  back  on 
one  side  as  Bull  Page  threw  the  saddle  across  her 
from  the  other;  hostlers  caught  at  the  cinches, 
while  others  hurriedly  rubbed  the  legs  of  the 
quivering  mare.  De  Spain,  his  hand  on  McAl- 
pin's  shoulder,  was  giving  his  parting  injunctions, 
and  the  barn  boss,  head  cocked  down,  and  eyes 
cast  furtively  on  the  scattering  snowflakes  out 
side,  was  listening  with  an  attention  that  recorded 
indelibly  every  uttered  syllable. 

Once  only,  he  interrupted:  "Henry,  you're 
ridin'  out  into  this  thing  alone — don't  do  it." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  snapped  de  Spain  impatiently. 

"It's  a  man  killer." 

"I  can't  help  it." 

"Bob  Scott,  if  he  w's  here,  'ud  never  let  you  do 
399 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

it.  Til  ride  wi'  ye  myself,  Henry.  I  worked  for 
your  father — 

"  You're  too  old  a  man,  Jim " 

"Henry " 

"Don't  talk  to  me  !  Do  as  I  tell  you !"  thun 
dered  de  Spain. 

McAlpin  bowed  his  head. 

"Ready!"  yelled  Page,  buckling  the  rifle  hol 
ster  in  place.  Still  talking,  and  with  McAlpin 
glued  to  his  elbow,  de  Spain  vaulted  into  the  sad 
dle,  caught  the  lines  from  Bull's  hands,  and 
steadied  the  Lady  as  she  sidestepped  nervously 
—McAlpin  following  close  and  dodging  the  danc 
ing  hoofs  as  he  looked  earnestly  up  to  catch  the 
last  word.  De  Spain  touched  the  horse  with  the 
lines.  She  leaped  through  the  doorway  and  he 
raised  a  backward  hand  to  those  behind.  Run 
ning  outside  the  door,  they  yelled  a  chorus  of 
cries  after  the  swift-moving  horseman  and,  clus 
tered  in  an  excited  group,  watched  the  Lady  with 
a  dozen  great  strides  round  the  Calabasas  trail 
and  disappear  with  her  rider  into  the  whirling 
snow. 

She  fell  at  once  into  an  easy  reaching  step,  and 
de  Spain,  busy  with  his  reflections,  hardly  gave 
thought  to  what  she  was  doing,  and  little  more  to 
what  was  going  on  about  him. 

No  moving  figure  reflects  the  impassive  more 
than  a  horseman  of  the  mountains,  on  a  long  ride. 

400 


De  Spain  Rides  Alone 

Though  never  so  swift-borne,  the  man,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  moving  evenly 
and  statue-like  against  the  sky,  a  part  of  the  wiry 
beast  under  him,  presents  the  very  picture  of  in 
difference  to  the  world  around  him.  The  great 
swift  wind  spreading  over  the  desert  emptied  on 
it  snow-laden  puffs  that  whirled  and  wrapped  a 
cloud  of  flakes  about  horse  and  rider  in  the  sym 
bol  of  a  shroud.  De  Spain  gave  no  heed  to  these 
skirmishing  eddies,  but  he  knew  what  was  behind 
them,  and  for  the  wind,  he  only  wished  it  might 
keep  the  snow  in  the  air  till  he  caught  sight  of 
Nan. 

The  even  reach  of  the  horse  brought  him  to  the 
point  where  Nan  had  changed  to  the  stage  wagon. 
Without  a  break  in  her  long  stride,  Lady  Jane 
took  the  hint  of  her  swerving  rider,  put  her  nose 
into  the  wind,  and  headed  north.  De  Spain, 
alive  to  the  difficulties  of  his  venture,  set  his  hat 
lower  and  bent  forward  to  follow  the  wagon  along 
the  sand.  With  the  first  of  the  white  flurries 
passed,  he  found  himself  in  a  snowless  pocket,  as 
it  were,  of  the  advancing  storm.  He  hoped  for 
nothing  from  the  prospect  ahead;  but  every  mo 
ment  of  respite  from  the  blinding  whirl  was  a 
gain,  and  with  his  eyes  close  on  the  trail  that  had 
carried  Nan  into  danger,  he  urged  the  Lady  on. 

When  the  snow  again  closed  down  about  him 
he  calculated  from  the  roughness  of  the  country 

AOl 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

that  he  should  be  within  a  mile  of  the  road  that 
Nan  was  trying  to  reach,  from  the  Gap  to  Sleepy 
Cat.  But  the  broken  ground  straight  ahead 
would  prevent  her  from  driving  directly  to  it. 
He  knew  she  must  hold  to  the  right,  and  her 
curving  track,  now  becoming  difficult  to  trail, 
confirmed  his  conclusion. 

A  fresh  drive  of  the  wind  buffeted  him  as  he 
turned  directly  north.  Only  at  intervals  could  he 
see  any  trace  of  the  wagon  wheels.  The  driving 
snow  compelled  him  more  than  once  to  dismount 
and  search  for  the  trail.  Each  time  he  lost  it 
the  effort  to  regain  it  was  more  prolonged.  At 
times  he  was  compelled  to  ride  the  desert  in  wide 
circles  to  find  the  tracks,  and  this  cost  time  when 
minutes  might  mean  life.  But  as  long  as  he  could 
he  clung  to  the  struggle  to  track  her  exactly. 
He  saw  almost  where  the  storm  had  struck  the 
two  wayfarers.  Neither,  he  knew,  was  insensi 
ble  to  its  dangers.  What  amazed  him  was  that 
a  man  like  Duke  Morgan  should  be  out  in  it. 
He  found  a  spot  where  they  had  halted  and,  with 
a  start  that  checked  the  beating  of  his  heart,  his 
eyes  fell  on  her  footprint  not  yet  obliterated, 
beside  the  wagon  track. 

The  sight  of  it  was  an  electric  shock.  Throw 
ing  himself  from  his  horse,  he  knelt  over  it  in  the 
storm,  oblivious  for  an  instant  of  everything  but 
that  this  tracery  meant  her  presence,  where  he 


De  Spain  Rides  Alone 

now  bent,  hardly  half  an  hour  before.  He  swung, 
after  a  moment's  keen  scrutiny,  into  his  saddle, 
with  fresh  resolve.  Pressed  by  the  rising  fury  of 
the  wind,  the  wayfarers  had  become  from  this 
point,  de  Spain  saw  too  plainly,  hardly  more  than 
fugitives.  Good  ground  to  the  left,  where  their 
hope  of  safety  lay,  had  been  overlooked.  Their 
tracks  wandered  on  the  open  desert  like  those 
who,  losing  courage,  lose  their  course  in  the  con 
fusion  and  fear  of  the  impending  peril. 

And  with  this  increasing  uncertainty  in  their 
direction  vanished  de  Spain's  last  hopes  of  track 
ing  them.  The  wind  swept  the  desert  now  as  a 
hurricane  sweeps  the  open  sea,  snatching  the 
fallen  snow  from  the  face  of  the  earth  as  the  sea- 
gale,  flattening  the  face  of  the  waters,  rips  the 
foam  from  the  frantic  waves  to  drive  it  in  wild, 
scudding  fragments  across  them. 

De  Spain,  urging  his  horse  forward,  unbuckled 
his  rifle  holster,  threw  away  the  scabbard,  and 
holding  the  weapon  up  in  one  hand,  fired  shot 
after  shot  at  measured  intervals  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  two  he  sought.  He  exhausted 
his  rifle  ammunition  without  eliciting  any  answer. 
The  wind  drove  with  a  roar  against  which  even 
a  rifle  report  could  hardly  carry,  and  the  snow 
swept  down  the  Sinks  in  a  mad  blast.  Flakes 
torn  by  the  fury  of  the  gale  were  stiffened  by  the 
bitter  wind  into  powdered  ice  that  stung  horse 

403 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

and  rider.  Casting  away  the  useless  carbine, 
and  pressing  his  horse  to  the  limit  of  her  strength 
and  endurance,  the  unyielding  pursuer  rode  in 
great  coiling  circles  into  the  storm,  to  cut  in,  if 
possible,  ahead  of  its  victims,  firing  shot  upon 
shot  from  his  revolver,  and  putting  his  ear  in 
tently  against  the  wind  for  the  faint  hope  of  an 
answer. 

Suddenly  the  Lady  stumbled  and,  as  he  cruelly 
reined  her,  slid  helpless  and  scrambling  along  the 
face  of  a  flat  rock.  De  Spain,  leaping  from  her 
back,  steadied  her  trembling  and  looked  under 
foot.  The  mare  had  struck  the  rock  of  the  upper 
lava  bed.  Drawing  his  revolver,  he  fired  signal 
shots  from  where  he  stood.  It  could  not  be  far,  he 
knew,  from  the  junction  of  the  two  great  desert 
trails — the  Calabasas  road  and  the  Gap  road. 
He  felt  sure  Nan  could  not  have  got  much  north 
of  this,  for  he  had  ridden  in  desperation  to  get 
abreast  of  or  beyond  her,  and  if  she  were  south, 
where,  he  asked,  in  the  name  of  God,  could  she 
be? 

He  climbed  again  into  the  saddle — the  cold  was 
gripping  his  limbs — and,  watching  the  rocky  land 
marks  narrowly,  tried  to  circle  the  dead  waste 
of  the  half-buried  flow.  With  chilled,  awkward 
fingers  he  filled  the  revolver  again  and  rode  on, 
discharging  it  every  minute,  and  listening — hop- 

404 


De  Spain  Rides  Alone 

ing  against  hope  for  an  answer.  It  was  when  he 
had  almost  completed,  as  well  as  he  could  com 
pute,  the  wide  circuit  he  had  set  out  on,  that 
a  faint  shot  answered  his  continuing  signals. 

With  the  sound  of  that  shot  and  those  that  fol 
lowed  it  his  courage  all  came  back.  But  he  had 
yet  to  trace  through  the  confusion  of  the  wind  and 
the  blinding  snow  the  direction  of  the  answering 
reports. 

Hither  and  thither  he  rode,  this  way  and  that, 
testing  out  the  location  of  the  slowly  repeated 
shots,  and  signalling  at  intervals  in  return. 
Slowly  and  doggedly  he  kept  on,  shooting,  listen 
ing,  wheeling,  and  advancing  until,  as  he  raised 
his  revolver  to  fire  it  again,  a  cry  close  at  hand 
came  out  of  the  storm.  It  was  a  woman's  voice 
borne  on  the  wind.  Riding  swiftly  to  the  left,  a 
horse's  outline  revealed  itself  at  moments  in  the 
driving  snow  ahead. 

De  Spain  cried  out,  and  from  behind  the  furi 
ous  curtain  heard  his  name,  loudly  called.  He 
pushed  his  stumbling  horse  on.  The  dim  out 
line  of  a  second  horse,  the  background  of  a  wagon, 
a  storm-beaten  man — all  this  passed  his  eyes  un 
heeded.  They  were  bent  on  a  girlish  figure  run 
ning  toward  him  as  he  slid  stiffly  from  the  saddle. 
The  next  instant  Nan  was  in  his  arms. 


405 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    TRUTH 

the  desperation  of  a  joy  born  of  de 
spair  she  laid  her  burning  cheek  hysteri 
cally  against  his  cheek.  She  rained  kisses  on  his 
ice-crusted  brows  and  snow-beaten  eyes.  Her 
arms  held  him  rigidly.  He  could  not  move  nor 
speak  till  she  would  let  him.  Transformed,  this 
mountain  girl  who  gave  herself  so  shyly,  forgot 
everything.  Her  words  crowded  on  his  ears. 
She  repeated  his  name  in  an  ecstasy  of  welcome, 
drew  down  his  lips,  laughed,  rejoiced,  knew  no 
shamefacedness  and  no  restraint — she  was  one 
freed  from  the  stroke  of  a  descending  knife.  A 
moment  before  she  had  faced  death  alone;  it  was 
still  death  she  faced — she  realized  this — but  it 
was  death,  at  least,  together,  and  her  joy  and 
tears  rose  from  her  heart  in  one  stream. 

De  Spain  comforted  her,  quieted  her,  cut  away 
one  of  the  coats  from  his  horse,  slipped  it  over 
her  shoulders,  incased  her  in  the  heavy  fur,  and 
turned  his  eyes  to  Duke. 

The  old  man's  set,  square  face  surrendered 
406 


The  Truth 

nothing  of  implacability  to  the  dangers  confront 
ing  him.  De  Spain  looked  for  none  of  that.  He 
had  known  the  Morgan  record  too  long,  and 
faced  the  Morgan  men  too  often,  to  fancy  they 
would  flinch  at  the  drum-beat  of  death. 

The  two  men,  in  the  deadly,  driving  snow,  eyed 
each  other.  Out  of  the  old  man's  deep-set  eyes 
burned  the  resistance  of  a  hundred  storms  faced 
before.  But  he  was  caught  now  like  a  wolf  in  a 
trap,  and  he  knew  he  had  little  to  hope  for,  little 
to  fear.  As  de  Spain  regarded  him,  something 
like  pity  may  have  mixed  with  his  hatred.  The 
old  outlaw  was  thinly  clad.  His  open  throat  was 
beaten  with  snow  and,  standing  beside  the  wagon, 
he  held  the  team  reins  in  a  bare  hand.  De  Spain 
cut  the  other  coat  from  his  saddle  and  held  it 
out.  Duke  pretended  not  to  see  and,  when  not 
longer  equal  to  keeping  up  the  pretense,  shook 
his  head. 

"Take  it,"  said  de  Spain  curtly. 

"No." 

"Take  it,  I  say.  You  and  I  will  settle  our 
affairs  when  we  get  Nan  out  of  this,"  he  insisted. 

"De  Spain!"  Duke's  voice,  as  was  its  wont, 
cracked  like  a  pistol,  "I  can  say  all  I've  got  to  say 
to  you  right  here." 

"No." 

"Yes,"  cried  the  old  man. 
407 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

"Listen,  Henry,"  pleaded  Nan,  seeking  shelter 
from  the  furious  blast  within  his  arm,  "just  for 
a  moment,  listen !" 

"Not  now,  I  tell  you !"  cried  de  Spain. 

"He  was  coming,  Henry,  all  the  way — and  he 
is  sick — just  to  say  it  to  you.  Let  him  say  it 
here,  now." 

"Go  on !"  cried  de  Spain  roughly.     "Say  it." 

"Fm  not  afraid  of  you,  de  Spain !"  shouted  the 
old  man,  his  neck  bared  to  the  flying  ice.  "Don't 
think  it !  You're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  better 
than  I  ever  was — don't  think  I  don't  know  that. 
But  I'm  not  afraid  of  e'er  a  man  I  faced,  de  Spain; 
they'll  tell  you  that  when  I'm  dead.  All  the 
trouble  that  ever  come  'tween  you  and  me  come 
by  an  accident — come  before  you  was  born,  and 
come  through  Dave  Sassoon,  and  he's  held  it  over 
me  ever  since  you  come  up  into  this  country.  I 
was  a  young  fellow.  Sassoon  worked  for  my 
father.  The  cattle  and  sheep  war  was  on,  north 
of  Medicine  Bend.  The  Peace  River  sheepmen 
raided  our  place — your  father  was  with  them. 
He  never  did  us  no  harm,  but  my  brother,  Bay 
Morgan,  was  shot  in  that  raid  by  a  man  name  of 
Jennings.  My  brother  was  fifteen  years  old,  de 
Spain.  I  started  out  to  get  the  man  that  shot 
him.  Sassoon  trailed  him  to  the  Bar  M,  the 
old  de  Spain  ranch,  working  for  your  father." 

408 


The  Truth 

The  words  fell  fast  and  in  a  fury.  They  came 
as  if  they  had  been  choked  back  till  they  strangled. 
"Sassoon  took  me  over  there.  Toward  night  we 
got  in  sight  of  the  ranch-house.  We  saw  a  man 
down  at  the  corral.  'That's  Jennings/  Sassoon 
says.  I  never  laid  eyes  on  him  before — I  never 
laid  eyes  on  your  father  before.  Both  of  us  fired. 
Next  day  we  heard  your  father  was  killed,  and 
Jennings  had  left  the  country.  Sassoon  or  I,  one 
of  us,  killed  your  father,  de  Spain.  If  it  was  I, 
I  did  it  never  knowing  who  he  was,  never  meaning 
to  touch  him.  I  was  after  the  man  that  killed 
my  brother.  Sassoon  didn't  care  a  damn  which 
it  was,  never  did,  then  nor  never.  But  he  held 
it  over  me  to  make  trouble  sometime  'twixt  you 
and  me.  I  was  a  young  fellow.  I  thought  I  was 
revenging  my  brother.  And  if  your  father  was 
killed  by  a  patched  bullet,  his  blood  is  not  on  me, 
de  Spain,  and  never  was.  Sassoon  always  shot 
a  patched  bullet.  I  never  shot  one  in  my  life. 
And  I'd  never  told  you  this  of  my  own  self.  Nan 
said  it  was  the  whole  truth  from  me  to  you,  or 
her  life.  She's  as  much  mine  as  she  is  yours.  I 
nursed  her.  I  took  care  of  her  when  there  weren't 
no  other  living  soul  to  do  it.  She  got  me  and  her 
self  out  into  this,  this  morning.  I'd  never  been 
caught  like  this  if  I'd  had  my  way.  I  told  her  'fore 
we'd  been  out  an  hour  we'd  never  see  the  end  of 

409 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

it.  She  said  she'd  rather  die  in  it  than  you'd 
think  she  quit  you.  I  told  her  I'd  go  on  with 
her  and  do  as  she  said — that's  why  we're  here, 
and  that's  the  whole  truth,  so  help  me  God ! 

"I  ain't  afraid  of  you,  de  Spain.  I'll  give  you 
whatever  you  think's  coming  to  you  with  a  rifle 
or  a  gun  any  time,  anywhere — you're  a  better  man 
than  I  am  or  ever  was,  I  know  that — and  that 
ought  to  satisfy  you.  Or,  I'll  stand  my  trial,  if 
you  say  so,  and  tell  the  truth." 

The  ice-laden  wind,  as  de  Spain  stood  still, 
swept  past  the  little  group  with  a  sinister  roar, 
insensible  alike  to  its  emotions  and  its  deadly 
peril.  Within  the  shelter  of  his  arm  he  felt  the 
yielding  form  of  the  indomitable  girl  who,  by  the 
power  of  love,  had  wrung  from  the  outlaw  his 
reluctant  story — the  story  of  the  murder  that 
had  stained  with  its  red  strands  the  relations  of 
each  of  their  lives  to  both  the  others.  He  felt 
against  his  heart  the  faint  trembling  of  her  frail 
body.  So,  when  a  boy,  he  had  held  in  his  hand  a 
fluttering  bird  and  felt  the  whirring  beat  of  its 
frightened  heart  against  his  strong,  cruel  fingers. 

A  sudden  aversion  to  more  bloodshed,  a  sick 
ening  of  vengeance,  swept  over  him  as  her  heart 
mutely  beat  for  mercy  against  his  heart.  She 
had  done  more  than  any  man  could  do.  Now 
she  waited  on  him.  Both  his  arms  wrapped  round 

410 


The  Truth 

her.  In  the  breathless  embrace  that  drew  her 
closer  she  read  her  answer  from  him.  She  looked 
up  into  his  eyes  and  waited.  "There's  more  than 
what's  between  you  and  me,  Duke,  facing  us 
now,"  said  de  Spain  sternly,  when  he  turned. 
"We've  got  to  get  Nan  out  of  this — even  if  we 
don't  get  out  ourselves.  Where  do  you  figure 
we  are  ?"  he  cried. 

"I  figure  we're  two  miles  north  of  the  lava 
beds,  de  Spain,"  shouted  Morgan. 

De  Spain  shook  his  head  in  dissent.  "Then 
where  are  we?"  demanded  the  older  man  rudely. 

"I  ought  not  to  say,  against  you.  But  if  I've 
got  to  guess,  I  say  two  miles  east.  Either  way, 
we  must  try  for  Sleepy  Cat.  Is  your  team  all 
right?" 

"Team  is  all  right.  We  tore  a  wheel  near  off 
getting  out  of  the  lava.  The  wagon's  done  for." 

De  Spain  threw  the  fur  coat  at  him.  "Put  it 
on,"  he  said.  "We'll  look  at  the  wheel." 

They  tried  together  to  wrench  it  into  shape, 
but  worked  without  avail.  In  the  end  they 
lashed  it,  put  Nan  on  the  Lady,  and  walked  be 
hind  while  the  team  pushed  into  the  pitiless  wind. 
Morgan  wanted  to  cut  the  wagon  away  and  take 
to  the  horses,  but  de  Spain  said,  not  till  they 
found  a  trail  or  the  stage  road. 

So  much  snow  had  fallen  that  in  spite  of  the 
411 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

blizzard,  driving  with  an  unrelenting  fury,  the 
drifts  were  deepening,  packing,  and  making  all 
effort  increasingly  difficult.  It  was  well-nigh  im 
possible  to  head  the  horses  into  the  storm,  and  de 
Spain  looked  with  ever  more  anxious  eyes  at  Nan. 
After  half  an  hour's  superhuman  struggle  to  re 
gain  a  trail  that  should  restore  their  bearings, 
they  halted,  and  de  Spain,  riding  up  to  the  wagon, 
spoke  to  Morgan,  who  was  driving:  "How  long 
is  this  going  to  last  ?" 

"All  day  and  all  night."  Nan  leaned  closely 
over  to  hear  the  curt  question  and  answer.  Nei 
ther  man  spoke  again  for  a  moment. 

"We'll  have  to  have  help,"  said  de  Spain  after 
a  pause. 

"Help  ?"  echoed  Morgan  scornfully.  "Where's 
help  coming  from  ?" 

De  Spain's  answer  was  not  hurried.  "One  of 
us  must  go  after  it."  Nan  looked  at  him  intently. 

Duke  set  his  hard  jaw  against  the  hurtling 
stream  of  ice  that  showered  on  the  forlorn  party. 
"I'll  go  for  it,"  he  snapped. 

"No,"  returned  de  Spain.     "Better  for  me  to 

go." 

"Go  together,"  said  Nan. 

De  Spain  shook  his  head.  Duke  Morgan,  too, 
said  that  only  one  should  go;  the  other  must 
stay.  De  Spain,  while  the  storm  rattled  and 

412 


The  Truth 

shook  at  the  two  men,  told  why  he  should  go 
himself.  "It's  not  claiming  you  are  not  entitled 
to  say  who  should  go,  Duke,"  he  said  evenly. 
"Nor  that  our  men,  anywhere  you  reach,  wouldn't 
give  you  the  same  attention  they  would  me. 
And  it  isn't  saying  that  you're  not  the  better  man 
for  the  job — you've  travelled  the  Sinks  longer 
than  I  have.  But  between  you  and  me,  Duke, 
it's  twenty-eight  years  against  fifty.  I  ought  to 
hold  out  a  while  the  longer,  that's  all.  Let's 
work  farther  to  the  east." 

Quartering  against  the  mad  hurricane,  they 
drove  and  rode  on  until  the  team  could  hardly  be 
urged  to  further  effort  against  the  infuriated  ele 
ments — de  Spain  riding  at  intervals  as  far  to  the 
right  and  the  left  as  he  dared  in  vain  quest  of  a 
landmark.  When  he  halted  beside  the  wagon  for 
the  last  time  he  was  a  mass  of  snow  and  ice;  horse 
and  rider  were  frozen  to  each  other.  He  got  down 
to  the  ground  with  a  visible  effort,  and  in  the 
singing  wind  told  Duke  his  plan  and  purpose. 

He  had  chosen  on  the  open  desert  a  hollow  fall 
ing  somewhat  abruptly  from  the  north,  and  be 
neath  its  shoulder,  while  Morgan  loosened  the 
horses,  he  scooped  and  kicked  away  a  mass  of 
snow.  The  wagon  had  been  drawn  just  above 
the  point  of  refuge,  and  the  two  men,  with  the  aid 
of  the  wind,  dumped  it  over  sidewise,  making  of 

413 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

the  body  a  windbreak  over  the  hollow,  a  sort  of 
roof,  around  which  the  snow,  driven  by  the  gale, 
would  heap  itself  in  hard  waves.  Within  this 
shelter  the  men  stowed  Nan.  The  horses  were 
driven  down  behind  it,  and  from  one  of  them  de 
Spain  took  the  collar,  the  tugs,  and  the  whiffle- 
tree.  He  stuck  a  hitching-strap  in  his  pocket, 
and  while  Morgan  steadied  the  Lady's  head,  de 
Spain  buckled  the  collar  on  her,  doubled  the  tugs 
around  the  whiffletree,  and  fastened  the  roll  at 
her  side  in  front  of  the  saddle. 

Nan  came  out  and  stood  beside  him  as  he 
worked.  When  he  had  finished  she  put  her  hand 
on  his  sleeve.  He  held  her  close,  Duke  listening, 
to  tell  her  what  he  meant  to  try  to  do.  Each 
knew  it  well  might  be  the  last  moment  together. 
"One  thing  and  another  have  kept  us  from  mar 
riage  vows,  Nan,"  said  de  Spain,  beckoning  at 
length  to  Morgan  to  step  closer  that  he  might 
clearly  hear.  "Nothing  must  keep  us  longer. 
Will  you  marry  me?" 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes.  "I've  promised 
you  I  would.  I  will  promise  every  time  you  ask 
me.  I  never  could  have  but  one  answer  to  that, 
Henry — it  must  always  be  yes!" 

"Then  take  me,  Henry,"  he  said  slowly,  ''here 
and  now  for  your  wedded  husband.  Will  you  do 
this,  Nan?" 

414 


"I've  promised  you  I  would.     I  will  promise  every  time  you 
ask  me." 


The  Truth 

Still  looking  into  his  eyes,  she  answered  without 
surprise  or  fear:  "Henry,  I  do  take  you." 

"And  I,  Henry,  take  you,  Nan,  here  and  now 
for  my  wedded  wife,  for  better  for  worse,  for  richer 
for  poorer,  from  this  day  forward,  until  death  us 
do  part." 

They  sealed  their  pact  with  a  silent  embrace. 
De  Spain  turned  to  Duke.  "You  are  the  witness 
of  this  marriage,  Duke.  You  will  see,  if  an  acci 
dent  happens,  that  anything,  everything  I  have 
— some  personal  property — my  father's  old  ranch 
north  of  Medicine  Bend — some  little  money  in 
bank  at  Sleepy  Cat — goes  to  my  wife,  Nan  Mor 
gan  de  Spain.  Will  you  see  to  it  ?" 

"I  will.  And  if  it  comes  to  me — you,  de  Spain, 
will  see  to  it  that  what  stock  I  have  in  the  Gap 
goes  to  my  niece,  Nan,  your  wife." 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two 
men.  "All  that  I  have,"  she  said  in  turn,  "the 
lands  in  the  Gap,  everywhere  around  Music 
Mountain,  go  to  you  two  equally  together,  or 
whichever  survives.  And  if  you  both  live,  and 
I  do  not,  remember  my  last  message — bury  the 
past  in  my  grave." 

Duke  Morgan  tested  the  cinches  of  the  saddle 
on  the  Lady  once  more,  unloosed  the  tugs  once 
more  from  the  horse's  shoulder,  examined  each 
buckle  of  the  collar  and  every  inch  of  the  two 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

strips  of  leather,  the  reinforced  fastenings  on  the 
whiffletree,  rolled  all  up  again,  strapped  it,  and 
stood  by  the  head  till  de  Spain  swung  up  into 
the  saddle.  He  bent  down  once  to  whisper  a 
last  word  of  cheer  to  his  wife  and,  without  looking 
back,  headed  the  Lady  into  the  storm. 


416 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

GAMBLING    WITH    DEATH 

"DEYOND  giving  his  horse  a  safe  headway  from 
the  shelter,  de  Spain  made  little  effort  to 
guide  her.  He  had  chosen  the  Lady,  not  because 
she  was  fresher,  for  she  was  not,  but  because  he 
believed  she  possessed  of  the  three  horses  the 
clearest  instinct  to  bring  her  through  the  fight 
for  the  lives  that  were  at  stake.  He  did  not  de 
ceive  himself  with  the  idea  he  could  do  anything 
to  help  the  beast  find  a  way  to  succor;  that  in 
stinct  rested  wholly  in  the  Lady's  head,  not  in 
his.  He  only  knew  that  if  she  could  not  get  back 
to  help,  he  could  not.  His  own  part  in  the  effort 
was  quite  outside  any  aid  to  the  Lady — it  was  no 
more  than  to  reach  alive  whatever  aid  she  could 
find,  that  he  might  direct  it  to  where  Nan  and  her 
companion  would  endure  a  few  hours  longer  the 
fury  of  the  storm. 

His  own  struggle  for  life,  he  realized,  was  with 
the  wind — the  roaring  wind  that  hurled  its  broad 
sides  of  frozen  snow  in  monstrous  waves  across 
the  maddened  sky,  challenging  every  living  thing. 

417 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

It  drove  icy  knives  into  his  face  and  ears,  para 
lyzed  in  its  swift  grasp  his  muscles  and  sinews, 
fought  the  stout  flow  of  blood  through  his  veins, 
and  searched  his  very  heart  to  still  it. 

Encouraging  the  Lady  with  kind  words,  and 
caressing  her  in  her  groping  efforts  as  she  turned 
head  and  tail  from  the  blinding  sheets  of  snow  and 
ice,  de  Spain  let  her  drift,  hoping  she  might  bring 
them  through,  what  he  confessed  in  his  heart  to 
be,  the  narrowest  of  chances. 

He  bent  low  in  his  saddle  under  the  unending 
blasts.  He  buffeted  his  legs  and  arms  to  fight 
off  the  fatal  cold.  He  slipped  more  than  once 
from  his  seat,  and  with  a  hand  on  the  pommel 
tramped  beside  the  horse  to  revive  his  failing 
circulation;  there  would  come  a  time,  he  realized, 
when  he  could  no  longer  climb  up  again,  but  he 
staved  that  issue  off  to  the  last  possible  moment 
of  endurance,  because  the  Lady  made  better  time 
when  he  was  on  her  back.  When  the  struggle  to 
remount  had  been  repeated  until  nature  could 
no  longer  by  any  staggering  effort  be  made  to 
respond  to  his  will,  until  his  legs  were  no  longer  a 
part  of  his  benumbed  being — until  below  his  hips 
he  had  no  body  answerable  to  his  commands,  but 
only  two  insensible  masses  of  lead  that  anchored 
him  to  the  ground — he  still  forced  the  frozen  feet 
to  carry  him,  in  a  feeble,  monstrous  gait  beside 

418 


Gambling  with  Death 

the  Lady,  while  he  dragged  with  his  hands  on  the 
saddle  for  her  patient  aid. 

One  by  one  every  thought,  as  if  congealed  in 
their  brain  cells,  deserted  his  mind — save  the 
thought  that  he  must  not  freeze  to  death.  More 
than  once  he  had  hoped  the  insensate  fury  of 
the  blizzard  might  abate.  The  Lady  had  long 
since  ceased  to  try  to  face  it — like  a  stripped 
vessel  before  a  hurricane,  she  was  drifting  under 
it.  De  Spain  realized  that  his  helpless  legs  would 
not  carry  him  farther.  His  hands,  freezing  to 
the  pommel,  no  longer  supported  him.  They 
finally  slipped  from  it  and  he  fell  prostrate  in  the 
snow  beside  his  horse.  When  he  would  cry  out 
to  her  his  frozen  lips  could  mumble  no  words. 
It  was  the  fight  no  longer  of  a  man  against  nature, 
but  only  of  an  indomitable  soul  against  a  cruel, 
hateful  death.  He  struggled  to  his  feet  only  to 
fall  again  more  heavily.  He  pulled  himself  up 
this  time  by  the  stirrup-strap,  got  his  hands  and 
arms  up  to  the  pommel,  and  clung  to  it  for  a  few 
paces  more.  But  he  fell  at  last,  and  could  no 
longer  rise  from  the  ground.  The  storm  swept 
unceasingly  on. 

The  Lady,  checked  by  the  lines  wrapped  on 
his  arm,  stopped.  De  Spain  lay  a  moment,  then 
backed  her  up  a  step,  pulled  her  head  down  by 
the  bridle,  clasped  his  wooden  arms  around  her 

419 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

neck,  spoke  to  her  and,  lifting  her  head,  the  mare 
dragged  him  to  his  feet.  Clumsily  and  helplessly 
he  loosened  the  tugs  and  the  whiffletree,  beat  his 
hands  together  with  idiotic  effort,  hooked  the 
middle  point  of  the  whiffletree  into  the  elbow  of 
his  left  arm,  brought  the  forearm  and  hand  up 
flat  against  his  shoulder,  and  with  the  hitching- 
strap  lashed  his  forearm  and  upper  arm  tightly 
together  around  the  whiffletree. 

He  drew  the  tugs  stiffly  over  the  Lady's  back, 
unloosed  the  cinches  of  the  saddle,  pushed  it  off 
the  horse  and,  sinking  into  the  snow  behind  her, 
struck  with  his  free  arm  at  her  feet.  Relieved  of 
the  saddle,  the  Lady  once  more  started,  dragging 
slowly  behind  her  through  the  snow  a  still  breath 
ing  human  being.  Less  than  an  hour  before  it 
had  been  a  man.  It  was  hardly  more  now,  as 
the  Lady  plodded  on,  than  an  insensate  log. 
But  not  even  death  could  part  it  again  from  the 
horse  to  which  de  Spain,  alive,  had  fastened  it. 

The  fearful  pain  from  the  tortured  arm,  torn 
at  times  almost  from  its  socket,  the  gradual  snap 
ping  of  straining  ligaments,  the  constant  rupture 
of  capillaries  and  veins  sustained  his  conscious 
ness  for  a  while.  Then  the  torturing  pain  abated, 
the  rough  dragging  shattered  the  bruised  body  less. 
It  was  as  if  the  Lady  and  the  storm  together  were 
making  easier  for  the  slowly  dying  man  his  last 

420 


Gambling  with  Death 

trail  across  the  desert.  He  still  struggled  to  keep 
alive,  by  sheer  will-power,  flickering  sparks  of 
consciousness,  and  to  do  so  concentrated  every 
thought  on  Nan.  It  was  a  poignant  happiness 
to  summon  her  picture  to  his  fainting  senses;  he 
knew  he  should  hold  to  life  as  long  as  he  could 
think  of  her.  Love,  stronger  than  death,  welled 
in  his  heart.  The  bitter  cold  and  the  merciless 
wind  were  kinder  as  he  called  her  image  from 
out  of  the  storm.  She  seemed  to  speak — to  lift 
him  in  her  arms.  Ahead,  distant  mountains  rose, 
white-peaked.  The  sun  shone.  He  rode  with  her 
through  green  fields,  and  a  great  peace  rested  on 
his  weary  senses. 

Lady  Jane,  pushing  on  and  on,  enlightened  by 
that  instinct  before  which  the  reason  of  man  is 
weak  and  pitiful,  seeing,  as  it  were,  through  the 
impenetrable  curtain  of  the  storm  where  refuge 
lay,  herself  a  slow-moving  crust  of  frozen  snow, 
dragged  to  her  journey's  end — to  the  tight-shut 
doors  of  the  Calabasas  barn — her  unconscious 
burden,  and  stood  before  them  patiently  waiting 
until  some  one  should  open  for  her.  It  was  one 
of  the  heartbreaks  of  a  tragic  day  that  no  one 
ever  knew  just  when  the  Lady  reached  the  door 
or  how  long  she  and  her  unconscious  master  waited 
in  the  storm  for  admission.  A  startled  exclama- 

421 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

tion  from  John  Lefever,  who  had  periodically  and 
anxiously  left  the  red-hot  stove  in  the  office  to 
walk  moodily  to  the  window,  brought  the  men 
tumbling  over  one  another  as  he  ran  from  his 
companions  to  throw  open  the  outer  door  and  pull 
the  drooping  horse  into  the  barn. 

It  was  the  Indian,  Scott,  who,  reading  first  of 
all  the  men  everything  in  the  dread  story,  sprang 
forward  with  a  stifled  exclamation,  as  the  horse 
dragged  in  the  snow-covered  log,  whipped  a  knife 
from  his  pocket,  cut  the  incumbered  arm  and 
white  hand  free  from  the  whiffletree  and,  carrying 
the  stiffened  body  into  the  office,  began  with  in 
sane  haste  to  cut  away  the  clothing. 

Lefever,  perceiving  it  was  de  Spain  thus  drawn 
to  their  feet,  shouted,  while  he  tore  from  the 
blade  of  Scott's  knife  the  frozen  garments,  the 
orders  for  the  snow,  the  heated  water,  the  warm 
blankets,  the  alcohol  and  brandy,  and,  stripped  to 
his  waist,  chafed  the  marble  feet.  The  Indian, 
better  than  a  staff  of  doctors,  used  the  cunning 
of  a  sorcerer  to  revive  the  spark  of  inanimate  life 
not  yet  extinguished  by  the  storm.  A  fearful 
interval  of  suspense  followed  the  silence  into 
which  the  work  settled,  a  silence  broken  only 
by  the  footsteps  of  men  running  to  and  from  the 
couch  over  which  Scott,  Lefever,  and  McAlpin, 
half-naked,  worked  in  mad  concert. 

422 


Gambling  with  Death 

De  Spain  opened  his  eyes  to  wander  from  one 
to  the  other  of  the  faces.  He  half  rose  up,  strug 
gling  in  a  frenzy  with  the  hands  that  restrained 
him.  While  his  companions  pleaded  to  quiet 
him,  he  fought  them  until,  restored  to  its  seat  of 
reason,  his  mind  reasserted  itself  and,  lying  ex 
hausted,  he  told  them  in  his  exquisite  torture  of 
whom  he  had  left,  and  what  must  be  done  to  find 
and  bring  them  in. 

While  the  relief  wagons,  equipped  with  strain 
ing  teams  and  flanked  by  veteran  horsemen,  were 
dashing  out  of  the  barn,  he  lapsed  into  uncon 
sciousness.  But  he  had  been  able  to  hold  Scott's 
hand  long  enough  to  tell  him  he  must  find 
Nan  and  bring  her  in,  or  never  come  back. 

It  was  Scott  who  found  her.  In  their  gropings 
through  the  blizzard  the  three  had  wandered 
nearer  Calabasas  than  any  one  of  them  dreamed. 
And  on  the  open  desert,  far  south  and  east  of  the 
upper  lava  beds,  it  was  Scott's  horse  that  put  a 
foot  through  the  bottom  of  the  overturned  wagon 
box.  The  suspected  mound  of  snow,  with  the 
buried  horses  scrambling  to  their  feet,  rose  up 
right  at  the  crash.  Duke  crouched,  half-con 
scious,  under  the  rude  shelter.  Lying  where  he 
had  placed  her,  snugly  between  the  horses,  Scott 
found  Nan.  He  spoke  to  her  when  she  opened 
her  staring  eyes,  picked  her  up  in  his  arms,  called 

423 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

to  his  companions  for  the  covered  wagon,  and  be 
gan  to  restore  her,  without  a  moment  of  delay,  to 
life.  He  even  promised  if  she  would  drink  the 
hateful  draft  he  put  to  her  lips  and  let  him  cut 
away  her  shoes  and  leggings  and  the  big  coat 
frozen  on  her,  that  in  less  than  an  hour  she  should 
see  Henry  de  Spain  alive  and  well. 


424 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

AT    SLEEPY    CAT 

l^TOTHING  in  nature,  not  even  the  storm  it 
self,  is  so  cruel  as  the  beauty  of  the  after 
calm.  In  the  radiance  of  the  sunshine  next  day 
de  Spain,  delirious  and  muttering,  was  taken  to 
the  hospital  at  Sleepy  Cat.  In  an  adjoining  room 
lay  Nan,  moaning  reproaches  at  those  who  were 
torturing  her  reluctantly  back  to  life.  Day  and 
night  the  doctors  worked  over  the  three.  The 
town,  the  division,  the  stagemen,  and  the  moun 
tain-men  watched  the  outcome  of  the  struggle. 
From  as  far  as  Medicine  Bend  railroad  surgeons 
came  to  aid  in  the  fight. 

De  Spain  cost  the  most  acute  anxiety.  The 
crux  of  the  battle,  after  the  three  lives  were  held 
safe,  centred  on  the  effort  to  save  de  Spain's  arm 
— the  one  he  had  chosen  to  lose,  if  he  must  lose 
one,  when  he  strapped  it  to  the  whiffletree.  The 
day  the  surgeons  agreed  that  if  his  life  were  to  be 
saved  the  arm  must  come  off  at  the  shoulder  a 
gloom  fell  on  the  community. 

In  a  lifetime  of  years  there  can  come  to  the 
greater  part  of  us  but  a  few  days,  a  few  hours, 
sometimes  no  more  than  a  single  moment,  to  show 

425 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

of  what  stuff  we  are  really  made.  Such  a  crisis 
came  that  day  to  Nan.  Already  she  had  been 
wheeled  more  than  once  into  de  Spain's  room,  to 
sit  where  she  could  help  to  woo  him  back  to  life. 
The  chief  surgeon,  in  the  morning,  told  Nan  of 
the  decision.  In  her  hospital  bed  she  rose  bolt 
upright.  "No!"  she  declared  solemnly.  "You 
shan't  take  his  arm  off!" 

The  surgeon  met  her  rebellion  tactfully.  But 
he  told  Nan,  at  last,  that  de  Spain  must  lose  either 
his  arm  or  his  life.  "No,"  she  repeated  without 
hesitation  and  without  blanching,  "you  shan't 
take  off  his  arm.  He  shan't  lose  his  life." 

The  blood  surged  into  her  cheeks — better  blood 
and  redder  than  the  doctors  had  been  able  to 
bring  there — such  blood  as  de  Spain  alone  could 
call  into  them.  Nan,  with  her  nurse's  help, 
dressed,  joined  de  Spain,  and  talked  long  and 
earnestly.  The  doctors,  too,  laid  the  situation 
before  him.  When  they  asked  him  for  his  de 
cision,  he  nodded  toward  Nan.  "She  will  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  what  we'll  do." 

And  Nan  did  tell  them  what  the  two  who  had 
most  at  stake  in  the  decision  would  do.  Any 
man  could  have  done  as  much  as  that.  But  Nan 
did  more.  She  set  herself  out  to  save  the  arm 
and  patient  both,  and,  lest  the  doctors  should 
change  their  tactics  and  move  together  on  the 

426 


At  Sleepy  Cat 

arm  surreptitiously,  Nan  stayed  night  and  day 
with  de  Spain,  until  he  was  able  to  make  such  act 
ive  use  of  either  arm  as  to  convince  her  that  he, 
and  not  the  surgeons,  would  soon  need  the  most 
watching. 

Afterward  when  Nan,  in  some  doubt,  asked  the 
chaplain  whether  she  was  married  or  single,  he 
obligingly  offered  to  ratify  and  confirm  the  desert 
ceremony. 

This  affair  was  the  occasion  for  an  extraordinary 
round-up  at  Sleepy  Cat.  Two  long-hostile  ele 
ments — the  stage  and  railroad  men  and  the  Cala- 
basas-Morgan  Gap  contingent  of  mountain-men, 
for  once  at  least,  fraternized.  Warrants  were 
pigeonholed,  suspicion  suspended,  side-arms  neg 
lected  in  their  scabbards.  The  fighting  men  of 
both  camps,  in  the  presence  of  a  ceremony  that 
united  de  Spain  and  Nan  Morgan,  could  not  but 
feel  a  generous  elation.  Each  party  considered 
that  it  was  contributing  to  the  festivity  in  the 
bride  and  the  groom  the  very  best  each  could 
boast,  and  no  false  note  disturbed  the  harmony 
of  the  notable  day. 

Gale  Morgan,  having  given  up  the  fight,  had 
left  the  country.  Satterlee  Morgan  danced  till 
all  the  platforms  in  town  gave  way.  John  Le- 
fever  attended  the  groom,  and  Duke  Morgan 
sternly,  but  without  compunction,  gave  the  bride. 

427 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

From  Medicine  Bend,  Farrell  Kennedy  brought  a 
notable  company  of  de  Spain's  early  associates 
for  the  event.  It  included  Whispering  Smith, 
whose  visit  to  Sleepy  Cat  on  this  occasion  was  the 
first  in  years;  George  McCloud,  who  had  come 
all  the  way  from  Omaha  to  join  his  early  com 
rades  in  arms;  Wickwire,  who  had  lost  none  of 
his  taciturn  bluntness — and  so  many  train- 
despatchers  that  the  service  on  the  division  was 
crippled  for  the  entire  day. 

A  great  company  of  self-appointed  retainers 
gathered  together  from  over  all  the  country,  rode 
behind  the  gayly  decorated  bridal-coach  in  proces 
sion  from  the  church  to  Jeffries's  house,  where  the 
feasts  had  been  prepared.  During  the  reception 
a  modest  man,  dragged  from  an  obscure  corner 
among  the  guests,  was  made  to  take  his  place 
next  Lefever  on  the  receiving-line.  It  was  Bob 
Scott,  and  he  looked  most  uncomfortable  until  he 
found  a  chance  to  slip  unobserved  back  to  the 
side  of  the  room  where  the  distinguished  Medicine 
Bend  contingent,  together  with  McAlpin,  Par- 
daloe,  Elpaso,  and  Bull  Page,  slightly  unsteady, 
but  extremely  serious  for  the  grave  occasion, 
appeared  vastly  uncomfortable  together. 

The  railroad  has  not  yet  been  built  across  the 
Sinks  to  Thief  River.  But  only  those  who  lived 

428 


At  Sleepy  Cat 

in  Sleepy  Cat  in  its  really  wild  stage  days  are 
entitled  to  call  themselves  early  settlers,  or  to  tell 
stories  more  or  less  authentic  about  what  then 
happened.  The  greater  number  of  the  Old 
Guard  of  that  day,  as  cankering  peace  gradually 
reasserted  itself  along  the  Sinks,  turned  from  the 
stage  coach  to  the  railroad  coach;  some  of  them 
may  yet  be  met  on  the  trains  in  the  mountain 
country.  Wherever  you  happen  to  find  such  a 
one,  he  will  tell  you  of  the  days  when  Superin 
tendent  de  Spain  of  the  Western  Division  wore  a 
gun  in  the  mountains  and  used  it,  when  necessary, 
on  his  wife's  relations. 

Whether  it  was  this  stern  sense  of  discipline  or 
not  that  endeared  him  to  the  men,  these  old- 
timers  are,  to  a  man,  very  loyal  to  the  young 
couple  who  united  in  their  marriage  the  two 
hostile  mountain  elements.  One  in  especial,  a 
white-haired  old  man,  described  by  the  fanciful  as 
a  retired  outlaw,  living  yet  on  Nan's  ranch  in  the 
Gap,  always  spends  his  time  in  town  at  the  de 
Spain  home,  where  he  takes  great  interest  in  an 
active  little  boy,  Morgan  de  Spain,  who  waits  for 
his  Uncle  Duke's  coming,  and  digs  into  his  pockets 
for  rattles  captured  along  the  trail  from  recent 
huge  rattlesnakes.  When  his  uncle  happens  to 
kill  a  big  one — one  with  twelve  or  thirteen  rings 
and  a  button — Morgan  uses  it  to  scare  his  younger 

429 


Nan  of  Music  Mountain 

sister,  Nan.  And  Duke,  secretly  rejoicing  at  his 
bravado,  but  scolding  sharply,  helps  him  adjust 
the  old  ammunition-belt  dragged  from  the  attic, 
and  cuts  fresh  gashes  in  it  to  make  it  fit  the  child 
ish  waist.  His  mother  doesn't  like  to  see  her  son 
in  warlike  equipment,  ambushing  little  Nan  in 
the  way  Bob  Scott  says  the  Indians  used  to  do. 
She  threatens  periodically  to  burn  the  belt  up 
and  throw  the  old  rifles  out  of  the  house.  But 
when  she  sees  her  uncle  and  her  husband  watch 
ing  the  boy  and  laughing  at  the  parade  together, 
she  relents.  It  is  only  children,  after  all,  that 
keep  the  world  young. 


430 


BY    FRANK    H.    SPEARMAN 


The  Daughter  of 
a  Magnate 

Illustrated.     I2mo.      $i-35  net 

"  An  American  story  through  and  through.  It  has  the 
American  atmosphere,  the  American  vitality,  the  American 
push.  It  deals  with  that  great  American  institution,  the  rail 
way,  not  only  with  technical  expertness,  but  in  the  form  of  a 
warm  and  pulsating  human  romance.  The  hero  and  heroine 
are  typical  American  characters,  and  their  love  story  has  peculiar 
force  and  beauty." — Rochester  Democrat  and  Chronicle. 

"  He  has  deftly  woven  exciting  escapes  and  heroic  acts  into 
an  entertaining  love  tale." — The  Outlook. 

Doctor  Bryson 

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"  Told  in  a  breezy  manner  as  a  Chicago  story  may  properly 
be  told.  The  book  belongs  to  that  class  of  books  which  will 
not  let  you  put  them  down  until  you  have  read  every  line. ' ' 

— Boston  Transcript. 

"As  the  story  of  a  strong,  brilliant  man's  struggles  and 
successes  '  Doctor  Bryson  '  is  decidedly  a  success. ' ' 

—  Chicago  R  ecord-  Herald. 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


BY    FRANK    H.    SPEARMAN 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Illustrated  in  Colors;  I2mo.     $1.35  net 
"It  is  one  of  the  stiffest,  most  realistic,  most  exciting 
fights  ever  fought  in  the  fiction  of  frenzied  finance,  and 
the  love  story  matches  it  in  interest." 

—New  York  Tribune. 

"An  absorbing  story  of  strong  men  in  action,  and  a 
very  capable  young  woman  who  unhesitatingly  stakes  her 
fortune  in  the  interests  of  her  heart." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

Robert  Kimberly 

Illustrated  in  Colors  by  James  Montgomery  Flagg 

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"All  the  time  behind  the  action  of  the  story  we  get 
the  impression  of  an  intricate  mesh-work  of  business  and 
finance,  speculation  and  fraud,  and  the  ceaseless  surge 
and  activity  of  the  refineries." — The  Bookman. 

"An  absorbing  novel  peopled  with  men  and  women 
thoroughly  alive  and  real." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

Whispering  Smith 

Illustrated  in  Colors  by  N.  C.  Wyeth 

i2mo.     $i-35  net 

"  In  '  Whispering  Smith '  there  is  something  happening 
all  the  time.  .  .  .   His  battles  make  the  civilized  reader 
forget  for  the  moment  that  he  does  not  approve  of  battle." 
— N.  Y.  Times  Saturday  Review. 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


.' 


